


Silver and Gold

by shedrovemehere



Category: DDT Pro-Wrestling, Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Angst, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kayfabe Compliant, Letters, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Oral Sex, Shower Sex, Smut, Swearing, a nice combo of all of them imo, florida mention, poutine mention, showering is a big theme here, wow that's a tag that exists
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2018-11-29 03:19:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 61,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11432070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shedrovemehere/pseuds/shedrovemehere
Summary: The ballad of the Golden Lovers. The complete saga!





	1. A poorly-kept secret

**Author's Note:**

> **IMPORTANT:** I made MAJOR edits to this piece, uploading them on March 31st, 2018. If you like it, please reread! Some of the chapters have changed significantly in tone!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny and Kota have a three-way match against Danshoku Dino, who forces them to kiss. And now Kenny's worried his secret has been revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter was changed substantially on March 31st, 2018.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> The match against Dino is a fictional match. The events of this chapter take place probably in late 2008 or early 2009, just before the Golden Lovers became a tag team. This chapter references their first match against each other in summer 2008.
> 
> Chapter rating: T  
> Chapter word count: 3.2k  
> [Original version of this chapter](https://golden--lovers.tumblr.com/post/164079496776/silver-and-gold-chapter-1) (tumblr)

* * *

For maybe the first time since he’d seen that video, Kenny Omega did _not_ want to see Kota Ibushi.

Since then, Kota had become Kenny’s best friend—something Kenny had never dared imagine. He remembers watching the tape, unable to take his eyes off the kid with the sparkling smile, effortless movements, and the confidence of someone who _knew_ how good he was. Kenny couldn’t stop thinking about him, couldn’t forget the talent and sense of humor he hadn’t seen anywhere else, except in himself. He’d felt stupid at the time—how could someone half a world away and _that_ talented be like Kenny Omega, a goofy nerd from Winnipeg? But his mind couldn’t let go of Kota Ibushi, _destiny,_ it said. _Fate._ He watched the video over and over, and felt the urgent, heavy anxiety even more strongly— _this_ was someone who knew what wrestling could and _should_ be. This was someone Kenny just _felt_ would understand, would have the dream and vision he did—Kenny felt like maybe he wasn’t alone in the world, because of this stranger. _Destiny._ It ate at him, until he sent a challenge, hoping to be noticed, hoping that what he thought he saw was _real._

And it _was._ Their first match was… well, _magical_ was the only appropriate word. As they fought, Kenny could feel it; he was right. He was _right._ Ibushi was everything Kenny had imagined, truly his dream opponent, someone who _got it,_ who knew that wrestling could be simultaneously funny and artistic; athletic and ridiculous. It was exhilarating, terrifying, maddening, and bizarre: this guy he was kicking, trying to beat, this guy he couldn’t even really _talk_ to… _this_ was the only person he’d ever met who he didn’t have to explain himself to _._ And he knew from the moment they met, right before the match. By the end, Kenny was too overwhelmed with the sense of connection, of sameness— he barely knew he lost, and certainly didn’t expect his reaction to be _sobbing._ But it was, it was all too much, he felt so foolish, exposed, scattered.

He remembers looking up at Kota kneeling next to him, and even through hot, bleary tears, Kenny was searching the face of this man he’d just met, the man he’d traveled around the world to meet, who in some ways felt more familiar than any of Kenny’s friends back home. He remembers wondering if he was just seeing what he wanted to see, or if Kota’s gaze really _was_ intense, curious; equally overwhelmed. They had very little language in common, but he remembers Ibushi looking desperate and scared, exactly the same thing Kenny felt. _This can’t be the end._ When they said goodbye, through a translator, there was so much they couldn’t say. Kenny remembers just staring at each other, hands clasped mid-handshake, and he knew they were both thinking _yes, this is real._ “Please come back soon,” Kota had said, but his eyes were wide and fiery, almost pleading. _Yes, this is real. What are you going to do about it?_

When he got home, Kenny knew he had to go back. He couldn’t meaningfully communicate with Kota, but Kota’s post match comments said it all. _I felt something common between us. “Yes! That’s it!!” I love Kenny Omega!_ When DDT called offering a contract, there was no doubt, none at all, about going to Japan. Kota Ibushi had shown Kenny that he wasn’t alone in the world, that there was someone else out there with the same crazy ideas he had, with the same passion and skill. And now that he’d felt it, Kenny knew there was nothing in the world more valuable than someone who is the very same type of weird as you. When Kenny got to Tokyo, Kota even met him at the airport, with a huge smile on his face.

They were instant friends—Kota went out of his way to make Kenny feel welcome in Japan. Kenny had learned enough Japanese to get by, and hanging out with Kota was extra incentive to learn more—anytime they could communicate, it was obvious they were in sync. Kota said he had never laughed so much in his life. All along the way, Kota’s talent and grace had hypnotized Kenny. Yes, of course Kota was cute—honestly, he was the most beautiful boy Kenny had ever _seen_. But Kenny admired him for his heart, his toughness, his incredible ability. He was actually very sweet, under all his bravado, and their friendship really did feel like destiny, sometimes. And of course, as a wrestler, there was no one Kenny admired more. He'd traveled halfway around the world, and met his best friend.

That (minus the part about Kota being devastatingly beautiful) was the story Kenny had been telling friends, interviewers, fellow wrestlers, Kota, and himself. But now, as he hurriedly prepared for his shower, he could feel that story disintegrating around him. He found his towel and nearly ran toward the back of the locker room, like it wasn’t safe to think what he was thinking out in the open.

It’s not that that story wasn’t true—every bit of it was genuine. No, Kenny was panicking because the incompleteness of that story had finally become too much to ignore.

He’d heard rumors that Dino tried to make people uncomfortable by trying to kiss them. But Kenny had a secret weapon, he thought: he had far more experience kissing boys than girls, back home. It was the opposite of something that would ruffle him. He’d gone confidently into the three-way match thinking it would be fun, that he’d turn the tables and be the one to make Dino uncomfortable because of how little he cared about being kissed by a man. He was more worried about getting past Ibushi, now that they knew each other well enough to be ready for each other’s tricks. Kenny had gone in cool and prepared.

He _hadn’t_ prepared for Dino forcing them to kiss _each other_. That was something else entirely. And that was what made the idea of seeing Kota completely unbearable.

Because… _god fucking dammit_ … he was probably… _no, no_. He closed the shower stall door behind him and leaned against the wall as the water began streaming over his neck and chest. He was probably… _No_. He was, _definitely. FUCK. Fuck_.

He was in love with Kota.

As he stood there letting the water wash over him, not really actually bathing, or even moving, he finally admitted it to himself. The kiss had been the thing that undid him. Not that it was a particularly good kiss—very forgettable, in fact; just a peck on the lips. But it had been _deliberately_ bad, because in the split second Kenny realized it was going to happen, he did everything in his power to make it the most uninspired, least sexual, least loving kiss he could muster. Not because he wanted to convince the crowd or Dino or even Kota that he was _actually very straight_ , but because he’d panicked: a kiss done well could have given him away. That impulse—to avoid a kiss he actually wanted very much—had forced him into a corner, and he had to admit, at last, that he loved Kota. It wasn’t so much about avoiding ridicule, more about avoiding the insurmountable (not to mention horribly awkward) implications of being _fucking head over heels in love with my only friend, a coworker. What the fuck, Kenny_. Trying to hold that thought back had derailed him completely, and it had cost him the match—Dino got the pin right then and there. He wondered whether Kota had noticed. _If he could tell that kiss threw me, he'll never let me forget about it. This is going to be torture._

He got his hair wet now, though still wasn’t actually doing anything but standing there under the warm water. It felt appropriate, because now everything was crashing over him. Of course he’d admitted to himself that he was attracted to Kota— anyone with working eyes was, Kenny assumed. But he’d never thought much about it, because Kota was his friend, and so important to him—too important to let anything muddy their undeniable connection. But the kiss had broken that barrier, and now simple attraction crashed into deep emotion, and Kenny was realizing all at once how much he truly _wanted_ Kota. This had been the most hidden of all the facts, and the most dangerous: Kenny was often literally physically intertwined with Kota. Crushing on him was probably inevitable. Wanting him was out of the question.

But now reality engulfed him. He couldn’t stop himself from seeing everything in his mind’s eye: Kota’s pillowy lips that formed the most deviously innocent smile, the shape of his waist, the muscles in his shoulders. The curve of his ass and his _fucking perfect anime hair… fuck_. Kenny realized he was getting hard, and he desperately tried to think of groceries, or calling his mom, or the route he was going to walk back to the dorms. But his mind never had been good at letting him stop thinking about Kota Ibushi, and snapped right back to how close he had been, how easily he could have kissed Kota for real, and just said it was part of the joke. _No. Kota’s my friend. He wouldn’t want that_. Except he knew very well that Kota wouldn’t have minded, probably would have played along. He was too innocent to suspect anything, and probably would have tried to playfully one-up Kenny, like always; to him it would have been just for laughs. Kenny was now almost uncomfortably hard, and had absent-mindedly begun running the tip of his finger lightly over the head of his cock. He tried for several minutes to think of _anything_ else.

Finally, Kenny sighed and rubbed his hand on his bar of soap to get some lubrication. _There’s no going back from this. You can’t un-jerk-off-in-the-locker-room-shower about your best friend. This is a line... oh god_. Kenny imagined _those lips_ again, not just kissing them, but tongues finding each other tentatively, then hungrily, then with teeth on lips. Hands grabbing at arms, ass cheeks, and hair. _Fuck_. He was already so close. He sped up his strokes, swaying his hips and leaning into his hand, using his other forearm to stabilize himself against the wall as the warm water trickled down his back. Kota’s hands had been on him so many times, and he now tried to bring the memory to mind in this new context. Kind hands, always gentle, always expressive. _I’ve seen the damage they can do when violent, imagine what they’d do to me gently_. Then he imagined those frustratingly soft lips again, but this time slowly wrapping around his cock; then eyes, shining with simultaneous innocence and that familiar, wicked _I-know-I’m-great-at-this_ sparkle they got when he made something impressive look effortless.

Kenny felt guilty, though at the same time reveled in the wrongness of craving such a sweet person, who’d probably never kissed _anyone_ for real, let alone another man. He imagined cupping Kota’s ass in one hand and pulling him closer, grinding their hips together. Knowing the next time he saw Kota he’d have to pretend he hadn’t imagined him swallowing; a sly but sweet look of satisfaction on _those lips. Fuck_. It was over, he was already coming all over his hand, his knees weakening a little as he spilled cum on his stomach and thigh. He nearly moaned; Kenny actually bit down on his lip to keep himself quiet _how people in bad porn stay quiet, fuck. I’m so fucking cheesy_. He couldn’t stop himself from gasping a little as he opened his eyes and tried to regain his balance. Slowly returning to his senses, he became aware that there were others in the locker room, but thankfully no one else in the shower area. That was lucky: he honestly didn’t know whether he would have noticed someone come in.

When he finished actually showering, he stepped out, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. He heard a familiar laugh behind him.

“I really would have thought you’d be a better kisser, Kenny-tan.” _Kenny-*tan*?_ Kota smiled that maddeningly innocent smile, _if he knew what happened to my stomach when he said “-tan”_... Kota was still dressed in his trunks and a t-shirt, and he was now looking straight up as he reached his arms to the top of the doorway to stretch his shoulders. As he did, the gap between his shirt and trunks grew, showing the tops of his hips and his perfectly cut abs. Kenny, of course, saw him with his shirt off every day, and yet somehow with just his belly button and hips and perfect waist peeking out, he looked _so fucking sexy_. _I’ve ruined everything. I can’t think of him like this. He’s my friend._ Kota's hair fell into his eyes messily as he turned his gaze back down to Kenny, and Kenny’s cheeks burned at how heartbreakingly gorgeous he was, not to mention the thought of what Kenny had done while thinking of _those eyes_ not five minutes prior. He just stared at Kota, frozen, worried an _I love you_ was written plainly on his face. He hadn’t thought this far ahead.

“You weren’t much better, _Ibushi-san_ ”, Kenny finally thought to say. “I really had high hopes.” _Oh god. That wasn’t a joke. Shut up, Kenny_.

Kota cocked his head to the side in surprise. “Bullshit. I’ve been with plenty of boys who claimed they were straight, swore it up and down, even once we were done and putting our pants on. But never one who _made it obvious_ with his poor kissing skills.” Kota affected a scoff and shook his head with mock disappointment. “It’s too bad, Kenny; I’ve always had a thing for curly hair.” His tone was almost startlingly nonchalant. He brought his arms down to his sides. “I guess I shouldn’t be upset, though. A lot of people I’ve wrestled have gotten hung up on it, and you’ve never seemed to care.” He started to take off his t-shirt to get ready for his shower.

Kenny’s whole chest trembled as his brain staggered to comprehend the last few seconds. He stood in stunned silence. He _thought_ he’d heard Kota—sweet, polite, soft-spoken, giggly Kota—openly and casually admit to being with men. “Plenty” was the word he’d used… _“even once we were done and putting our pants on.” Holy shit._ Had they ever talked about girls before? Kenny tried to remember, but he was frozen on the image of Kota standing in the doorway, stretching his shoulders with his hair falling so beautifully into his eyes and his abs peeking out below his shirt; breezily talking about how many men he'd fucked. _I'll remember that little gem on my fucking deathbed._ Then, just to make sure Kenny's ability to process thoughts was completely destroyed, Kota had, in seemingly slow-motion, taken his shirt off. Which Kenny saw happen all the time, but in the context of having just imagined ripping that shirt off him, holding down those shoulders… _Was he kidding?_   “I didn’t… I mean not that I…”

“Actually it’s kind of good for my job security.” Kota laughed nervously, and when Kenny didn’t say anything, Kota seemed to need to fill the silence. “Pretty boys attract more women fans, and yet the promoters know we’re never going to go off and get married, or be caught with a stripper or something.” Kenny nodded, too dazed to say much. “Honestly Kenny, I’m kind of amazed that you didn’t know. People tell me I couldn’t hide it if I tried.” He laughed somewhat sadly at that. "Which means I stopped trying to hide it.” Kota was still smiling, but he was avoiding eye contact, and being noticeably indirect with his language in contrast to the boldness with which he’d begun talking.

Kenny’s brain still drew blanks, so he looked down to avoid just staring again.

“Kenny.” Kota’s voice sounded suddenly smaller and fully earnest. “You really didn’t know. Oh god. I should have told you. I just thought…” he fiddled nervously with the t-shirt balled up in his hands. “We’re still friends, right?” Kenny met his gaze and saw imploring, vulnerable softness that hadn’t been there a minute ago. “You can tell me if... I… I should have told you.” He winced slightly.

Kenny’s heart broke for him. _You don’t come out once, you come out every damn day_. “Kota. I hope you know me by now.” Kota nodded, and Kenny grabbed his friend’s forearm. _He just said it, now I really have to_. “You deserve to be happy. I don’t care who you love. I don’t care who you fuck. As long as it’s me.” _Not exactly how I wanted that to come out_. Kota smiled despite his worry, acknowledging Kenny’s attempt to cheer him with a joke. _It wasn’t a joke. Tell him. Shut up. Dammit. I have to get out of here_.

Kota looked down, then back up at Kenny with those _goddamn honest eyes_ , wide and piercing. “Thanks,” he said softly. That _thanks_ was filled with meaning; _thanks for not changing your mind about me. Thanks for taking it well_. Kenny’s heart hurt for him again, and even though he knew it would be a comfort to Kota, he couldn’t bring himself to tell him. _Kenny, you coward. You don’t deserve someone so brave._ He realized he was still holding onto Kota’s wrist, and remembering how the conversation had begun, he playfully tossed Kota’s arm aside. “Now look. I’ve never once gotten a bad review of my kissing. From women or men. _You_ must be the problem.”

Kota’s eyes immediately regained their mischievous sparkle. “ _Or men_ , huh? You’re a little worse at kissing than you are at lying, Kenny-tan, but it’s close.” _Cocky bastard. I’m glad my bad kiss felt real, but oh if I could show you…_ Kota’s smile would have been convincing to most, but not to Kenny. _He thinks I’m joking to cheer him up. Fucking say it!_ Kota laughed and slapped Kenny on the shoulder. “You’re a good friend, Kenny. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

 _Friend._ Kenny nodded absent-mindedly and quickly turned away as Kota continued getting ready for his shower. _Of fucking course, Kota. I think you were put on this earth as a living example of everything I can’t have_. An easy laugh, a combination of softness and sass that charmed everyone, any man he wanted, devastating good looks, and _the ability to be the best in the world, goddamn you_. Kenny left the locker room, lost in thought.


	2. The Golden Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Booker:** So you guys are like into dudes or something? What's that like a gimmick?  
>  **Kota, about to invent the Golden Lovers:** Oh, didn't you know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter was added on March 31st, 2018, but contains elements that used to be in other chapters.**
> 
>  
> 
> Kenny said once in an interview that DDT wanted the Golden Lovers to be rivals, but they begged to be a tag team instead.  
>    
> Chapter rating: G  
> Chapter word count: 1.6k

* * *

 

Kota had always had a bravado to match his libido, and the mouth to serve both very well. Being both impulsive and genuinely kind and affectionate meant he’d unintentionally broken a few hearts—people who weren’t put off by his quick, friendly effusiveness often mistook it for a sign of interest. But just as often when he _was_ interested, potential relationships screeched to a halt when people realized that under the beautiful exterior, he was actually kind of odd and goofy. In order to protect himself (and protect others from his obliviousness), he'd learned to studiously maintain just the right amount of detachment from others. Which was good, because the second his emotions really got into the mix, he became a nervous, skittish kid; every cool thing about him melted away.

And, just by being who he was, Kenny Goddamn Omega had sauntered in and broken down every defense, effortlessly, without even knowing it. Kota was used to seeming weird and alien to people, but from moment one, Kenny had been unmistakably from the same alien planet. _What was I supposed to do then?_

Kenny’s Japanese wasn’t as solid then, and Kota’s English was nonexistent, but somehow he’d just immediately known—not felt, _known_ —that Kenny was going to be special to him for a long, long time. But not in the cheesy-romance, falling in love the first time eyes meet kind of way---in fact it had all started very platonically. Instead it was an inexplicable, sudden-but-sure connection: _I know you're going to change my heart; you’ll be there forever_. The possibility of finally knowing someone for whom he didn’t have to water down or de-weird his personality had made him feel simultaneously vulnerable and eager, back then. These days, though, he was just _terrified_. He’d finally admitted to himself that he was in love with Kenny, but given the enormity of their relationship—whatever it was—Kota couldn’t risk losing him as a best friend and other half. _He’s already my other half? Fuck. He really is._

And he could feel Kenny pulling away. After he’d found out that Kota had been with men _why did I say it like that_ he’d distanced himself from Kota. There were times when he made Kota feel like he was the only person in the room, like all he wanted was to make Kota laugh. But he’d also leave right after practice, and eat dinner alone. Kota was crushed, he never wanted to hope that someone as funny and honest (and hot) as Kenny Omega could have feelings for him, and judging by the way he kissed, he absolutely didn’t. But sometimes it really felt like time froze around them, and nothing was more amazing than the feeling that they were connected. He tried to understand, but the way Kenny looked at him sometimes… it was too upsetting. Kota felt so strongly that there was _something_ between them, something he wanted very much. He couldn’t stop feeling like Kenny felt it too, in the moments where Kota could get him to let his guard down. But, worried about seeing what he wanted to see rather than the truth, Kota tried to focus on their friendship.

“I don’t want to fight you anymore,” Kenny had said one evening while they were walking back to the dorms from dinner. Kota had been torn on the subject; whenever they faced each other, it was more fun than almost anything else he could think of. But more and more often, Kota could feel the awkwardness between them seeping into their wrestling. He noticed he was hesitating and getting tripped up more often, and it seemed like Kenny was also faltering. It was awkward and unpleasant, but apparently only they noticed: their chemistry caught the attention of the bookers, who wanted to make sure their rivalry stayed fresh and was revisited frequently.

But fighting was also a way to be close to Kenny, and sometimes the only way they got to spend time together. With Kenny seeming so distant, Kota felt sick about the idea of giving it up. But he could tell Kenny was really uncomfortable fighting him. He couldn’t ask his best friend to keep doing something he didn’t want to do, and besides, he really hated hurting Kenny, which is hard to avoid when you’re fighting. “I can’t do it either,” Kota confessed. He brushed his hand against Kenny’s as they walked, which was less of an accident than he wanted to admit. _I don’t want to be without you, though._ “What if we ask to be a tag team?” Kota said it quickly, without thinking, and immediately regretted it. _Shut up, shut up, he doesn’t even want to be near you, idiot._

“They’d never go for it,” Kenny said with a sigh. “And you know we’re both good enough to be winning singles titles.”

“Yeah,” Kota sighed, knowing Kenny was right, but wondering if he was also making a convenient excuse.

Kenny started to say something, but stopped himself, and Kota’s heart fell. It must have shown in his face, because Kenny looked at him and said, “that sounds like so much fun, though.” He sounded sincere. _Are all Canadians this confusing?_

Kota, still unable to stop himself from saying the stupidest things _all the time,_ blurted out, “let’s be a tag team, then. We’ll tell them that’s what we want.” _Too much? To obvious?_

Kenny looked confused, but smiled wide. “I still don’t think it’ll work, but we can try. You know I love working with you.” For a moment, Kenny was very close, and looked like he was going to hug Kota. But he quickly put a friendly distance between them. _I should have just hugged him anyway. Ugh, coward._

But, _we can try_ and _I love working with you_ were enough to get Kota’s big, dumb heart to hope again. _When will I learn?_ The idea of being a team with Kenny, who was still his best friend, even with all the weirdness, was enough to keep him from despairing. _I know he feels it too. I know it._

The following week when they met with the bookers and office folks, there was a lot of resistance to the idea of a tag team, as Kota and Kenny had expected. But the office people all knew, too, that forcing a fight on two people who _really_ don’t want to fight doesn’t make for exciting wrestling, so they reluctantly agreed to the tag team idea. Kota was trying to keep himself from squirming in his chair with excited energy, and Kenny had the hugest, prettiest smile on his face. Kota wanted to make that happen as often as possible.

“Since you’re so talented, we should call you two the Golden Twins, ya know? You’re practically identical,” the booking agent looked pleased with himself for that joke.

“No.” Kota said it before he could stop himself. He had no idea where he was going from there, but he knew that idea felt wrong. “You can’t call us _twins,_ it’s like you’ve never met us before.” Kota laughed nervously, afraid to look at Kenny sitting in the chair next to him. _Just like in the ring, jumping without knowing where I’ll land._

The booker, looking annoyed, peered at Kota dismissively. “Okay. What do you have in mind, then?”

It came to him all at once. It was perfect, it made so much sense. As long as Kenny really did have feelings for him, as he suspected. _Oh Kenny, forgive me, I hope this works._ “Didn’t you know?” Kota didn’t even know this guy’s name, but he was banking on the lack of imagination and perception that most straight people seemed to have. “You should call us the Golden _Lovers._ ” Kenny looked at Kota urgently, panic and confusion written on his face. Kota could see it without turning his head, but he kept smiling, looking at the man expectantly, like he’d just made a very helpful suggestion.

The booker looked from Kenny to Kota and back, then laughed as though going along with a joke Kota was telling. “Ha, so you guys are _like that,_ huh?”

“Yes,” Kota said quickly, and his stomach fell with the terror of this point of no return, but he turned and smacked a deliberately awkward and chaste kiss on Kenny’s cheek. Remaining intentionally clumsy and unnatural, he grabbed Kenny’s hand with both of his, and grinned at the man across the desk. “We’re in love.” _Please let me be right about that._ Kenny was stunned, but noticed the booker was staring at him, and nodded weakly, his hand laying limp between Kota's. Kota’s heart was racing.

The booker was silent for an agonizing moment. “That’s hilarious. That’s a great angle, the women will absolutely cream themselves about two pretty boys in love, and everyone else will get such a kick out of it.” The man laughed, like the idea of two men loving each other was the highest comedy. “Golden Lovers it is. Great idea."

They walked back to the dorms in silence, and Kota felt like he was going to lose his mind before they got back, not knowing if he’d just made the best or worst brash decision. When they got to the door to Kenny’s building, Kenny gave Kota a scared, skeptical look. _Oh no._ There were a few moments of awkward silence, and then Kenny said, “goodnight, lover” as he turned away, laughing nervously. Kota watched him go into the building, anxious and wondering whether he’d just accidentally ended their friendship.


	3. More than a gimmick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Golden Lovers are both secretly into each other, and now they have to tag together. This causes some confusion and angst. They try to have a conversation about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note: This chapter was changed substantially on March 31st 2018**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> In kayfabe, the Golden Lovers are, in fact, lovers.  
>    
> Chapter rating: E  
> Chapter word count: 3.2k  
> [Original version of this chapter](https://golden--lovers.tumblr.com/post/164097972200/silver-and-gold-chapter-2) (tumblr)

* * *

 

For three agonizing weeks, Kenny tried to put it all out of his mind. At first, he told himself it wasn’t really love, just lust; just a dumb crush. He wasn’t completely wrong; it definitely _was_ lust. He'd taken to leaving as soon as matches were over to avoid having to look at Kota’s _goddamn perfect body_ any more than was already necessary. But... it was _also_ love, and he found himself more worried about Kota, and more willing to risk his own safety to keep Kota from getting hurt. He took losses harder, too, wanting to do well for _them_. When he couldn't avoid Kota, he'd make dumb jokes. Partly to avoid talking about anything serious, but mostly to see Kota smile and see his nose crinkle when he really genuinely laughed.

But it wasn’t just Kenny. Since they started tagging, he noticed Kota sitting closer to him and listening to him more intently as he talked; staring at him more piercingly. Or maybe Kota had always been that way, and Kenny had just pushed it out of his mind. In any case it felt like Kota had turned up the charm, _just to fucking torment me; dudes being head over heels for him is nothing new, so why not have fun with it, eh Kota?_ Kenny hadn’t known how to feel about the whole Golden Lovers thing. Was it some kind of joke? He’d gone along with it, worried that Kota had been using it as a clever cover for his sexuality, but Kota couldn’t have known what a horrible spot Kenny, who was _stupidly_ in love with him, was now in because of it.

Kenny had thought tagging with Kota was going to be awkward, but it turned out to be amazing, which was in some ways worse than awkward. It was exhilarating, and it only made Kenny fall even harder. _What a disaster._ He felt so self-conscious around Kota, now. Kota kept asking whether anything was wrong, whether Kenny was okay. Kenny knew that it was hurting him, knew Kota could feel him pulling away, but what was he going to do? _It’s not like he even knows what rejection feels like, anyway. He’s so fucking perfect_.

“Kenny.” Kota grabbed his arm one night while he was packing up. They were two of the last left in the locker room. Kota was in boxer briefs, which was common attire for the room. But there’s a difference between seeing a sexy man in underwear and _the man you love_. Kenny was in gym shorts and a t-shirt— fairly chaste for a room full of mostly-naked men. Kota motioned with just his eyes for Kenny to follow him. He headed for the back of the locker room, toward the shower area. He signaled for Kenny to wait, went in, turned on one of the showers, and came back out. The area outside the shower room was far enough away from the last handful of people who were currently leaving the locker room, but Kota had evidently had enough sensitive conversations in semi-public areas to know to create some cover noise. He leaned against the doorway into the shower area and sighed. “Kenny. I can see what you’re doing."

Kenny’s entire chest felt like it was going to cave in. _Here it comes. “I’m flattered but I'm just not attracted to you because I can have any man in the world and you’re a goofy weaboo mophead who kisses like a straight boy.”_ “You can?”

“I wish you’d been honest with me.” _So you can gracefully reject my stupid crush and have everything be awkward? Yeah, can’t imagine why I wouldn’t do that_. Kota looked… oddly upset. “Okay, I told you, it’s happened before. I mean, it’s okay.” It didn’t really look “okay,” whatever “it” was. "Some people just can’t be okay with it even if they want to be; that’s okay.” He took a deep breath. “I just said ‘okay’ too much.” He exhaled. “I forced you into it. I’m so sorry about that. What an idiot.” He sighed. “I’d understand if you don’t want to tag with me anymore, but I hope we can still be friends.” As though he’d practiced saying the line. “I’m sorry about the Golden Lovers thing. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just thought…” Kota trailed off, and managed an uncanny valley version of his normal carefree smile. “I just hate having you avoid me all the time. I get lonely without you, you know.” His eyes regained a bit of their normal glimmer of recklessness, and he snickered self-consciously.

“Oh Kota…” Kenny felt like he was tripping backward into a pit that could be 3 feet deep or three thousand; simultaneously falling and flying. “You think I’m uncomfortable that you’re…” Kota nodded slightly. _Well, I definitely am uncomfortable with it, just not in the way you think_. "Oh, no. No, I’m sorry Kota. I don’t mind the Golden Lovers. I thought it was cute.” Kota winced, but Kenny was still trying to say _anything_ that didn’t make him sound like an asshole. "I wasn’t… I mean I don’t care. I mean, I _do_ , because I care about you. But… I was…” They heard the locker room door shut, and now the room was silent besides the shower on behind them.

Kota looked confused, unconvinced, and hurt. “I told you you’re a terrible liar, Kenny. You’ve been making sure you leave before me, not going out with us, not talking to me during practice, eating dinner alone…"

 _Of course you’ve paid that much attention to what I do, what a caring friend. Ugh_. Kenny inhaled deeply, and looked past Kota into the shower room, _those eyes will trip me up_. “I _have_ been avoiding you… but... because… um…”

“It’s because you’re embarrassed about being such a bad kisser, isn’t it? Or is it that you hold hands like a dead fish?” Kota laughed as though he’d been unable to help himself in getting the jab in, but still looked more self-conscious than Kenny was used to him looking.

“You… ugh.” He glared at Kota, who for all the world looked like a sweet cherub who’d never dream of having a dick in his mouth. _His lips_. His hair fell recklessly into his eyes. _This gorgeous jerk_. _Kenny, you fucking coward, do it_. Kenny’s eyes darted to make contact with Kota's. In one smooth, wordless motion, Kenny moved a hand to the back of Kota’s neck _his hair’s so damn soft_ and pulled Kota’s mouth toward his. When their lips met, _oh my god_ Kenny knew he couldn’t pretend not to love this man; it felt like it was running through his veins. Kenny opened his mouth slightly _fuck he tastes so sweet_ and Kota didn’t just let it happen, he pressed back, returned every movement of lips and tongues. Kota rested his forearms on Kenny’s shoulders and pulled away from the kiss, eyes wide, leaving his face within inches of Kenny’s.

Kenny snickered now; _showed you, you jerk_. The surprise on Kota’s face was delicious, and Kenny wanted to savor it. “Sorry I’m so _bad_ at it. You’d know, since you’re _quite_ knowledgeable, apparently.”

Kota laughed and covered his face in slight embarrassment of his speechlessness. “Wow.”

No three-letter word had ever made Kenny’s heart soar _and_ his dick hard. _Now he knows. Now he's off his game_. “You underestimated me, Ibutan.” _You see what I did there?_ The locker room was dead silent except the shower that was on behind them, and Kenny could hear the sound of his flip flops squeaking on the tile floor as he shifted his weight. He pulled back slightly to see Kota searching his face. “What?”

He kissed Kenny’s cheek softly and rested his temple on Kenny’s, which made Kenny’s mind grind to a halt at the sudden, intimate tenderness. “I’m sorry I said you kiss like a straight boy.” Then he laughed nervously. “You’re not joking with me, right?”

“What? Joking about what? Do you think I’d kiss you as a joke?” Kota stared and shook his head slightly. _You fucker, you can have anyone you want. When have_ you _ever been kissed as a joke?_ Kenny wanted to yell at him, tell him what it was _actually_ like to have people laugh at you, but all he could say was, “it wasn’t a joke.” He raised a palm to Kota’s cheek, using his thumb to softly trace Kota’s bottom lip. “It was a lesson.” _And a challenge._ Kota’s eyes snapped to his. _Ha, I’ve got you._ Kenny returned the stare.

Kota raised his eyebrows. With one swift, instantaneous movement, he had grabbed Kenny’s wrist, pushed his shoulder, and tied him up in a hammerlock, arm behind his back. Kenny, startled and bewildered, now had his back to Kota, and as he started to protest, Kota shoved him into the shower room. He tripped forward, confused. Again he started to say something, but Kota pushed him forward, and off balance as he was, Kota was able to fairly easily push him into the already-running shower, falling over his flip-flops, still clothed. “Hey, what the f—“ Kenny sputtered through the running water, but instead of closing the shower door, Kota calmly stepped into the shower stall with him—also still clothed—closing the door behind him. There wasn’t a lot of room for movement; they were pressed closely together, hot water streaming over them. Kenny was still stunned. “Wh—“

Kota pressed his lips onto Kenny’s as he felt for the hem of Kenny’s soaking wet shirt. Mouths open, teeth on lips; hungry and long overdue. Kota broke away from the kiss and helped Kenny remove his soaking wet t-shirt, letting it fall into a corner of the stall. Now as they both breathed heavily and let the water flow over and between them, Kota rested one elbow on Kenny’s shoulders and buried his hand in Kenny’s curls. _He said, “I’ve always had a thing for curly hair.” Fuck._ Fingers firmly entangled in Kenny’s hair, he rested his head on Kenny’s shoulder and pulled him close, other arm around Kenny’s waist. Kenny put one hand on the back of Kota’s head and returned the squeeze, burying his face in the space between Kota’s neck and shoulder. They clung to each other with the warm water running over them, for several long moments just being as close as they could, as though they’d been reunited after too long apart. Kenny took time to savor each point of contact: chest to chest, arms circling around waists, hands in hair, lips on shoulders, hips and thighs pressed close. All of it wet and warm and _right_. _He said,“we’re in love.” Oh my god._ Their breathing slowed and synched, but neither loosened the embrace. Kenny could feel _I love you_ like an electric current everywhere skin met skin, his body betraying him as much as if he’d been forced to speak the words. For all the fantasizing he’d done, this dangerously tender closeness made him feel weaker than the realization that Kota had _thrown him into the shower and then joined him_. Although that thought _had_ gotten him very hard very quickly.

As their hips were pressed together, he could feel that Kota was in the same situation. Kota softly touched Kenny’s cheek with one hand, and guided Kenny’s lips to his in seemingly slow motion; Kenny was aware of every movement of lips and tongues. With his other hand Kota pulled down the waistband of Kenny’s shorts. Just a few inches, just enough to expose most of his cock. Then, still with the agonizingly slow kiss, Kota did the same with his waistband, rubbed his hand on a bar of soap nearby, and took both of them in his hand. Kenny thought he was going to fall as he felt their shafts come into contact. Kota’s technique, gentle but firm, was as expert as he'd claimed and as heavenly as Kenny had dared imagine. Now the soapy water made slick noises with the rhythmic strokes, and Kenny leaned his forehead on Kota’s for balance. And to watch. It was the first time he’d seen Kota hard, and _fuck that feels incredible_ his cock was predictably beautiful _of fucking course_. And the warm water still surrounded them, felt like an extra layer of protection against everything outside.

When he looked back up at Kota, he was met with a hungry expression, teeth bared. Kota smiled almost villainously, and mockingly growled, “thanks for that lesson before.” As he said it, he intensified his strokes, twisting his hand slightly with each movement so his palm was sliding over the heads. _Fuck. I love you. I hate you._ Kenny was not nearly as annoyed as he was turned on, and grateful, and _falling_. He gasped for breath, resting his temple against Kota’s, lips to ear. “I’ve imagined this for so long,” Kenny said quietly without really thinking. _Oh god why did I say that?_ He shouldn’t have been so open, but he couldn’t hold thoughts in his mind as Kota worked; his defenses had been lowered.

“I know,” Kota said against his ear, laughing slightly.

“You can’t Han Solo me while you do _that_ , Kota, my brain will fry.” _He’s going to be the death of me someday, and it will be so sweet._

“Han what?” Kota asked, giggling again. _Of course he hasn’t seen Star Wars_. Kota didn’t wait for clarification, apparently too preoccupied with _getting us both off oh my god_ , and said, “I know because I’ve watched you. Well, I didn’t know. I hoped.” He sped up his hand and put his lips right against Kenny’s ear. “I was so sure I’d made you uncomfortable, but I still hoped...” He took a moment to catch his breath. “I’ve been waiting too.”

Kenny’s breath caught in his throat and a wave of shivers shot through him. It must have been evident, because Kota, mouth still against Kenny’s ear, _mmmm_ ed in approval, and slipped his arm around Kenny’s waist, pulling him closer for maximum friction. Now he pushed Kenny’s head against the wall, kissing him breathlessly, moving down his neck to his collarbone, as they both tried not to get water up their noses. They smiled through the kiss at the silliness of it, relishing the wetness all the same. Kota shifted his hand movement and _holy shit how is he doing that_ pulled away from the kiss, putting his lips back to Kenny’s ear. “If you want to teach me a lesson for real, show me what your face does when you come… and stay quiet.” He pulled back and leaned his head against the wall behind him, then with both hands, he spread his fingers and palms to stroke them both while keeping them sliding against one another, and sped up his movements. Kenny bit his lip to stay quiet again, but this time he didn’t care that it was cheesy, it was necessary. He thrust his hips into Kota’s hands, grabbing both Kota’s wrists to guide them to just the right angle, which made Kota gasp quietly. Kenny looked up to see that Kota was watching him as promised, eyes sparkling with lust and genuine affection. He didn’t feel the orgasm sneaking up on him, it just hit him all at once and he clapped a hand to his mouth to stay quiet as he came all over Kota’s hands. His eyes opened wide with shock at the waves crashing over him, opened just in time to see Kota quickly put two fingers in his mouth, sucking the cum off them, smiling innocently, somehow. _Fuck._ Not letting go, Kota used the lubrication to finish himself off too. With a small sigh, his hands had even more cum dripping down his knuckles and all over both their stomachs. The shower probably didn’t quite provide enough white noise to cover their heavy breathing.

Kota rested his forehead on Kenny’s shoulder while Kenny draped one arm over his back. It wasn’t that different from how they often got close to talk in the ring, but that was never going to feel the same after what had just happened. Kota laughed nervously and self consciously, looking up at Kenny, who truly didn’t know what to say either. For a moment they stared at each other, letting the full understanding of what they’d just done permeate the space between them; fear, hope, joy, worry, _love_. Kota looked down, resting his temple on Kenny’s again so his lips brushed against Kenny’s ear as he spoke. “Please don’t go anywhere, Kenny.” Kenny realized that this interaction had started out with Kota wrongly assuming Kenny didn’t actually want them to be a team. "At least not without me.”

Kenny thought he was going to lose balance; _how could someone like him feel the same?_ But when he met Kota’s gaze, he saw unabashed admiration in the eyes of the dripping wet man who stood in front of him. _He’s as reckless with his heart as he is with his body; he just jumps without worrying about how much landing is going to hurt_. Kenny could only nod in affirmation; he was too overwhelmed by the enormity of the situation, just like in the beginning, _just like I hope I will be for a long, long time._

Kota kissed his shoulder sweetly, tenderly, lovingly; that small act somehow more intimate than everything that had come before it. “You get out first and I’ll follow you,” Kota whispered. _Ah, you’ve done this before, Ibutan_. Kenny supposed it was good practice—even if their relationship were accepted here the way it was back home, they were still co-workers. _Relationship? That's awkward._ _Oh god, practice? What if this happens again? What if it doesn’t?_ As he reached for the handle, Kota grabbed his hand awkwardly and squeezed. When Kenny turned back, he received a shy goodbye kiss on the corner of his mouth. Moments ago, this man had licked cum off his fingers after deftly getting Kenny off faster than he could normally do it himself. Now, he again looked innocent and nervous. _He... actually does seem like he likes me._ Kenny loved him with all his heart. _Oh shit._ They stared at each other intensely for a few moments; the _"what now?"_ s and _"that just happened"_ s and maybe even _"I love you"_ s palpable in the air between them, but unsaid.

Kota shut off the shower, and Kenny stepped out. He found a towel and did his best to appear nonchalant, slowly heading back to his locker. In the locker area, a janitor was emptying the garbage cans, which normally would have worried him, but Kenny was in a daze as he put on his clothes. He started packing his bag and smiled at the janitor, while behind him he heard Kota closing the shower door. He left the locker room without even glancing in Kota’s direction; his chest fluttering with the big secret they’d just created together.


	4. For the good of professional wrestling itself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some makeouts in a train bathroom, of all places, and it doesn't exactly go to plan. In that the boys' "translator", Michael Nakazawa, catches them. They're really testing his patience. Poor Michael. The chapter ends with A Situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note: Substantial edits were made to this chapter on March 31st, 2018.**
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> Michael Nakazawa was a fellow DDT wrestler who traveled with the Golden Lovers, ostensibly as their translator. In kayfabe it was implied that he's also a chaperone to keep them from naughtiness. He accompanied Kota during his time in the WWE Cruiserweight Classic, as his translator, so Nakazawa _is_ a translator, regardless of whether the Golden Lovers actually needed one at the time.
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> Chapter rating: T  
> Chapter word count: 3.8k  
> [Original version of this chapter](https://golden--lovers.tumblr.com/post/164106568848/silver-and-gold-chapter-3) (tumblr)

* * *

 

The whole shower thing had really complicated matters. Before that, they’d both been able to avoid thinking about their intense connection as anything other than a friendship. _Well, mostly._ Kota had to admit to some moments when he’d imagined much more, even very early on. Actually, he hadn’t been very good at not-imagining it at all. But in any case, now that it was clear that bodies and hearts wanted the same thing, there was no turning back.

Of course _someone_ found out; maybe it was that janitor, maybe someone had come into the locker room. _We probably wouldn’t have noticed a tsunami_. When they’d been asked to explain, defend themselves, deny it, they just… didn’t. They’d been asked separately, _like being interrogated by the police, like we murdered someone or something_ , and instead of catching them in a lie, their superiors just got the truth. _Well, most of it_. Yes, they _had_ been together in the shower, The Golden Lovers, _isn’t that funny? If only you’d believed me when I told the truth the first time. The name’s no coincidence._

But as far as Kota was concerned, he _did_ lie.

For some reason straight men always seemed to think that everyone has lapses in judgment, that it’s just a normal part of Being A Man to experiment with your bros. _Also known as being bicurious, “straight” men_. They’d just assumed that the adorable, young, impressionable Golden Lovers, _both of whom have had more cocks in their mouths than you can count on one hand; how was this not obvious to you_ , had just had a regular old lapse in their heterosexuality; a one-time weird fling before going back to complaining about women _or whatever it is that straight men consider courtship_. Just a one-time slip-up; happens to everyone. Kota’s lie was agreeing to that.

It was a lie because, Kota knew, it was _definitely_ going to happen again. _I’ll make sure it does. I mean… if Kenny’s okay with it… god, this was so much easier when I didn't feel like a little kid with a crush every time I look at his dumb hair and pretty face and eyes and..._

So _that_ was where his once-dependable bravado shattered into laughable little pieces: at the feet of hilarious, beautiful, irredeemably dorky Kenny Omega. And when Kota told those stern-looking office men that he _promised_ The Totally Anomalous Shower Incident would _never_ happen again, he’d omitted “...because I’m not sure if he wants it to.” _I’d love to say it *will* happen again, though I can do it in my own shower if you’re going to make a big deal of it._ At least, that’s the kind of thing he _would_ say if he weren’t robbed of his cleverness, shocked into silence by how thoroughly he’d fallen for Kenny. 

At any rate, even after the stern talkings-to, The Golden Lovers didn’t really hide… whatever they were… very well. Not that they were acting any differently, but for anyone who was now looking at them with an arched eyebrow, their closeness was hard to miss. _You only get to play the “just close friends" card once, I guess._ It was frustrating how the higher-ups had been so accepting of their relationship when they thought it as only a joke, but although they didn’t act any differently now than they did then, there was something unacceptable about it. They already roomed in different buildings in the housing complex, and now they were _coincidentally_ both reassigned rooms directly next to coaches and trainers. Michael Nakazawa now joined them anytime they traveled or made public appearances. He’d been assigned as Kenny’s translator, but by now Kenny spoke more than enough Japanese to navigate most situations, so that explanation quickly became suspicious. _Not to mention_ _the part where the three of us only sometimes remember that he’s supposed to be translating._

All of this had gone on for several months, and it was starting to wear on both of them (and almost definitely poor Michael, too). They couldn’t really talk about anything at all, let alone the things they very much needed to discuss, because they were never allowed to be alone together. They had to keep in touch with text messages, and even then they couldn’t really be seen texting too much.

It had been hard to reassure each other that _yes, we need to talk about this thing but I do want it to be real_. It was obvious to both of them that the attraction existed, _hard to deny when we take such ridiculous risks just to steal a kiss_ , but less clear (and far more difficult to communicate via text message) was _where do we go from here?_ With so little opportunity for reassurance and such a large and perilous question hanging between them, it was easy for Kota to slide back into doubting Kenny was really interested in anything beyond being “close friends,” and he imagined Kenny had the same anxiety. Sometimes, when they thought no one was looking, one of them would quickly grab the other’s pinkie for just a second, usually under a table or behind some barrier. _I thought I was going to fall off my chair the first time he did it._ Those minute gestures of sweet affection were all they had to go on, and it felt _pathetic_ to put as much hope in them as he did. Even so, they meant so much more than discreet butt grabs ever could (though of course Kota really liked those, too).

Today, they were traveling by train, and of course, Michael was sitting right next to Kenny and Kota. Kenny began chatting with an older man near him; with his mop of blonde curls and his gaijin straightforwardness, he got into a lot of impromptu conversations in public. After a bit, the man started asking questions of Michael, and Kenny excused himself to use the bathroom. Kota, who’d been contributing a word here and there, got a text from Kenny about two minutes after he’d gotten up.

“Car 2 back” was all it said. Kota suppressed a reaction, and sent back simply “yes.” The conversation between Michael and the other passenger seemed somewhat intense; _perhaps the sort of conversation Michael would, say, feel compelled to continue for politeness’s sake_. _Poor Michael. He must be so sick of us_. Kota waited a minute or so, then left too. By now Michael, who was _not_ dense, obviously had suspicions of an agreement of some kind, but thankfully the two times he’d managed to catch up to them, they'd just been talking. Sometimes they really _did_ just talk, and it usually wasn't even about anything specific or salacious. It was just a relief to have a filter-free conversation and remember how easy it was to make each other laugh.

Kota made his way, not too quickly, to the restroom in the rear of car 2. He casually surveyed the train, just like any other dude waiting for a bathroom, and knocked lightly. The door cracked open a tiny sliver, and he slid it open the rest of the way, calmly locking it behind him. It did not smell great in here, though it looked clean enough, and—

Lightning quick, Kenny grabbed the back of Kota's neck and pulled him close. “How long?” Kenny purred into his ear.

Kota kissed along Kenny’s collarbone and neck, tugging gently on Kenny’s hair to bare his throat. “I’d give it at least 3 minutes before he can get away,” Kota said between kisses, moving his hand under Kenny’s shirt to make contact with skin. He pulled Kenny’s hair a bit harder now and laid into the space below Kenny’s jaw with teeth, tongue, and lips. Sometimes he selfishly wanted to pretend that it wouldn’t matter if he left evidence.

Kenny sucked in air through his teeth and grabbed for Kota’s ass, pulling him close and grinding their hips together. They’d made a gentlemen’s agreement to try to stay away from anything below the belt during these meetings, after a particularly close call that left both of them very distracted and in great physical discomfort for the rest of the day. _It probably cost us our match that day, too. What a mess_. For their own good, they largely stuck to the truce. Sometimes, though, they couldn't help bending that rule just a little, and on those occasions, neither ever said much in protest. Now Kenny _mmm_ ed into Kota’s ear, “do you always have to be such a tease?” He put one hand on Kota’s jaw to force his gaze.

 _Do you always have to have eyes I can’t say no to?_ “I don’t ever _have_ to be a tease, Omega.” Kenny tried to pull Kota’s lips toward him; they hadn’t kissed on the lips yet. _That’s the tease, huh? Kissing like people who love each other?_ Kota dodged him, smirking, and pulled Kenny’s hair again, harder this time, eliciting another purr of satisfaction. _Oh, you like that as much as I like doing it._ Kenny seemed to have the complementary thought, and a crooked, smirky smile came to his lips. _Goddammit, I love you._ Kota relented and hungrily kissed him, on the lips, of course. Probably too hard, really, and with too many teeth. But initial forceful, bruising pressure gave way to slow, achingly honest, soft, loving lips. Kota was startled at how much emotion that brought out in him; that slowing down to feel every tiny movement and change in intensity. Every fiber of attention was turned to the way lips softly moved against each other, the way tongues made firm, deliberate contact. Kota already had his eyes closed, but now he squeezed them shut as he pulled away from the kiss; _no part of me wanted that to be over_. “We should probably stop,” he said, noticing a tremble in his own voice.

Kenny pulled back and made the strangest expression, “are you okay?” He looked genuinely concerned.

Kota hadn’t been aware of anything that would indicate he wasn’t, but as he took stock he realized his eyebrows were furrowed and nose scrunched up, as if to hold back tears. He couldn’t even articulate to himself why that happened, so he just said, “yeah,” and shooed Kenny away. He’d do his best to explain later, _once I figure out what the hell that was._

Kenny slid the door open and for the briefest moment seemed to freeze, before leaving without a backward glance. Kota would wait a minute or two, then leave. He put his hands to his face, _what was that, that was sloppy_. The erratic emotions caused by periods of acting out “friendship,” followed by the briefest moments of intensity, had worn him down so much more than he wanted to admit. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if that would lessen the threat of tears, and he jumped when the door slid open. “I’m sorry I---” it was Michael, and the look on his face was unknowable beyond _I’m so fucking tired_. Kenny was behind him wincing in anxious helplessness. Kota’s chest tightened in fear. _I can’t even imagine what this looks like, with me teary for who-knows-what reason on top of everything else._

Michael blinked. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just needed to use the restroom,” he said as calmly as possible while shooting Kota a _get-the-fuck-out-of-here-and-act-normal_ glare. Michael closed the door, Kota opened it, and they switched places quietly.Kenny let him catch up, and they silently walked single-file through the aisle to get back to their seats.

“This is so stupid, I feel like we’re getting in trouble at school,” Kota leaned forward to say in a low voice. 

Kenny shook his head gravely. “My parents are going to kill me,” he deadpanned. Kota laughed a little at that, despite his dread, and that made Kenny smile too. _At least there’s that._ “Really, though, are you okay?” They reached their seats, and Michael was behind them by several seconds.

“It’s just… _a lot_ , I guess.” _That probably made no sense._ "Don’t worry, okay? We’ll talk later.”

Kenny sighed dejectedly; they both knew how uncertain “we’ll talk later” could be when they didn’t dictate their own interactions. Michael sat back down.

The rest of the train ride was awkward and stilted. They got to their hotel around noon and were assigned their rooms, Kenny with Michael and Kota with a senior trainer. _Other tag teams and friends share rooms all the time, I wonder how many people have noticed that we never do._ Michael had asked Kota to come to his and Kenny’s room, _presumably so we can find out what kind of trouble we’re in_. Kota didn’t even go to his own room first; he was too antsy. Instead he just paced around outside the door for a bit, rolling suitcase pacing with him, before forcing himself to knock. Michael opened the door and ushered Kota in. Kenny was sitting on one of the beds, looking down at his folded hands.

Michael sat across from Kenny on the other bed, and Kota sat down on the same bed as Kenny, but not close enough to touch, even accidentally. Michael sighed at great length. “I’m sorry, guys,” he started.

Kota’s heart went to his throat, _are we about to get fired? I didn’t think it was *that* serious. They wouldn’t do that, would they?_ He and Kenny just stared at Michael, not really knowing what to say. There was a long pause while Michael searched for the right words; Kota spent that time quietly panicking; _what am I gonna tell my family? What if we can’t get jobs anywhere else?_

“It’s not fair.” Michael said finally, as though begrudgingly admitting the truth. “I’m not the only one who thinks so.” Kota could feel his face flush, and snuck a glance at Kenny, who looked frozen and terrified. “You’d think they’d actually _encourage_ you to stay together when we’re not in public, so you don’t pull _shit like that_.” _Wait, what?_ Michael sighed. “Especially since you've been losing a lot. Look, you _cannot_ be doing that shit, but I understand why.” He looked tired and resigned. “It’s obvious to me that this is not going away, _Golden Lovers_ , so we’ve gotta deal with it.” _What??_ At this point Kota’s mind whiplashed uselessly. “I talked with Hiro.”—the trainer Kota was rooming with—“Kota, you and I are switching rooms tonight.”

Kenny and Kota looked at each other in utter disbelief, both wondering if they were part of some cruel prank or _very_ harmful rib. Kota tried to summon the right phrasing for his question, but only managed to get out “Wh… but... What…?” before Michael interrupted him:

“Just… don’t bullshit me. You know why I was assigned to ‘translate’ for you, and, look…” Michael searched for the right words. He sighed like he was about to do something despite his better judgment, and said, “you guys look so fucking dead-eyed all the time. And, I get it, I mean, you can’t even have a damn conversation. It must be horrible.” They’d figured Michael didn’t personally care about policing their relationship, but Kota hadn’t exactly expected _empathy_ , even it was _fucking-fed-up-with-your-shit_ empathy. “Today, it broke my heart to see you Kota—“ Kota’s cheeks flushed even more and he looked down— “you just looked so sad.” It was weird of Michael to be so direct, but he seemed to feel both urgency and exhaustion.

“Anyway, Hiro and I talked about it and we think it’d be better, and way less stressful for _everyone_ " clearly Michael meant himself too, "if you had a way to stop doing all that risky shit. And taking years off my life when _I don’t even care what you do_." Kota had never been so touched by someone saying they didn't care what he did. "We can’t do this all the time, but we will when we can, _just don’t fuck it up_ , or we’ll be in deep shit, too." 

Kota couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but having failed so spectacularly at words before, opted to say nothing. Michael seemed frustrated and _done_ , but also, somehow, genuinely interested in their happiness. He handed Kota his key card, got up, walked over to where his suitcase and coat were, and picked up both. “I'd never want to feel like I’m standing in the way of _true love_.” _Are you joking or is it that fucking obvious?_ Kota’s chest tightened at the thought that he’d been that transparent. Michael laughed to himself. “I’ll be just down the hall, so let me know if you need anything and… just be careful, and smart, okay?” _That means ‘don’t be loud and don’t get caught.’_ Kota managed a dazed nod, and Michael looked again at the two of them frozen in shock, several feet apart, on one of the beds. He smiled wide, shook his head, and left the room.

Kenny and Kota turned to look at each other—both bewildered and unsure what to say; they hadn’t really expected that this was how their day would go. Kota rubbed his eyes in disbelief, and his entire chest trembled with a mix of excitement and pure fear. “Did… are… what just happened?” He had evidently not regained his ability to form sentences or concrete thoughts. And what he _thought_ had happened honestly didn’t seem possible.

“...I _think_ he told us we have to fuck, for the good of the promotion,” Kenny said, wincing and getting quieter as he finished the sentence. He almost certainly hadn’t meant to _go there_ at top speed. He laughed to himself nervously and looked back down at his hands.

“No.” Kota said slowly, to Kenny’s momentary, poorly-hidden panic. Kota hadn’t meant to cause that, but he found it surprisingly cute, so he waited an extra second or two for dramatic tension. “It’s... for the good of professional wrestling itself, _Kenny_.” Kota said it gravely, as though it were their solemn duty.

Kenny nodded, finally letting himself smile huge, cheek-achingly; looking like he couldn’t stop if he tried. He giggled bashfully, adorably.

 _I can’t see ever getting tired of this nerd._ Kota chuckled, but mostly felt frozen where he sat. All those times he’d imagined, _more like planned every possible outcome,_ what he’d do in a scenario like this; with privacy, a bed, a whole day and night to themselves… He would have thought he’d be more eager to jump into _whatever happens now_ with both feet, but now, with it staring him in the face, he was just scared, turning the situation over in his mind again and again. _I’d have thought I wouldn’t waste a damn second_. Earlier today they’d known immediately exactly what to do and how to do it, and now with comparatively limitless opportunity, they sat silently at a chaste distance apart, hands in laps, like little kids on a playground.

Kota raised his palms to his face and let himself fall backwards onto the bed, feet dangling over the side. He heard the comforter swish as Kenny shifted. _Maybe he’ll start. Ugh, this is what falling for someone does to you. I don’t care for it._

He suddenly felt Kenny’s hand on his chest, and froze, as Kenny wrapped one arm around his waist. The next moment, Kenny’s head was on his shoulder, curls up against Kota’s cheek. Kota put one arm around him, shifted to lean his cheek to Kenny’s forehead, and took Kenny’s hand. They watched their fingers intertwine. Kota still had absolutely no clue what to say. He stared at the ceiling and exhaled at length to try to reset his nervous breathing.

“This is… just... really _nice_ ,” Kenny said, almost as an apology, and nuzzled up to Kota, but almost immediately pulled away a bit like he’d said something he shouldn’t. He laughed self-deprecatingly, like he should be ashamed of not jumping Kota the second the door had closed. He let his head flop back down on Kota’s shoulder, hiding his face in either faux or real embarrassment.

Kenny was right, Kota realized: it _was_ really nice. And for once there was no need for any timeline but the one they decided. He squeezed Kenny to his side and planted a lingering kiss on his forehead, as Kenny readjusted so that he was as close to Kota as possible, and his forehead was easier to kiss. _Not quite what I would have thought my first act would be, but... good_. Kota could feel the energy and heat returning to his mind, _oh the things I will do to you, but not quite yet_ ; they had the entire afternoon and evening, if they wanted it. There could be no such thing, right now, as wasted time; it was _everything_ just to be together. He wrapped his arms tight around Kenny, squeezing as hard as he could, eyes scrunched shut; _thank you I love you so much I love you so much_. Kenny returned the squeeze and brushed Kota’s jaw with light, slow kisses. “Are you okay?” Kenny asked, not for the first time today.

Kota felt he should say _"“why wouldn’t I be?"_ , but ultimately, “I think so,” was his far less confident and far more accurate answer. “Are you?”

“This is... _a lot_ ,” Kenny exhaled. He laughed a little.

“Heh. It is.” Kota agreed, playing with Kenny’s curls. “But we’ve got time.” _That is not on brand for me at all._ But he felt no rush. Friction, heat, possession, pressure, release—more than any of those, Kota realized, _time_ was what he’d wanted. Most of all, he'd wanted to know Kenny felt the same, and here was some very strong evidence of that, snuggled on his chest, matching his nervousness, _asking me if I’m okay, oh my god._ It was, indeed, _a lot_. Kota caught himself thinking he wouldn’t feel right, starting with fucking, when they had so much unsaid between them. _Am I getting old or am I that in love, or both? What have you done to me, Omega?_

It wasn’t the immediate, clothes-tearing lust they’d both have bet their lives on earlier today, in fact it felt somehow much more dangerous and wild than that. The lust would more than get its due, that was an unspoken certainty, but lust wasn’t the only thing they’d been forced to curtail and deny, nor had it been the most difficult to suppress. The desperate, insatiable need to compensate for what had been missing did not belong to fucking, _well, not yet anyway_ , it belonged far more urgently to time, as it turned out. _Nothing with you has gone how I thought it would; I love you I love you I love you._


	5. In which the lads save professional wrestling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter ended with a fade to black, and I could have stopped there, because I really, _really_ don't like writing smut. But hey, they deserve it, so I tried it and here ya go! I mean, how else would you know for absolute sure that they were in fact able to save the entire sport of professional wrestling by fucking? You wouldn't.
> 
> This takes place immediately after the events of the last chapter, which you should probably read if you want the jokes to make sense but otherwise, this chapter works on its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter received an overhaul on March 31st 2018. It remains pretty much the same plot-wise, though.**
> 
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> 
> Chapter rating: E  
> Chapter word count: 4.2k  
> [Original version of this chapter](https://golden--lovers.tumblr.com/post/165982165941/chapter-4-in-which-the-lads-save-professional) (tumblr)

* * *

 

They’d probably even dozed off like that, partially hanging off the bed, entangled in every way they could possibly manage. Legs wrapped around legs, arms on shoulders and chests, fingers in hair, faces pressed close together. Kota’s eyes fluttered open, and he wasn’t sure if he’d fallen asleep or just been lost in thought and feeling. Kenny was staring up at him, head still laid on Kota’s shoulder, moving locks of hair off Kota’s forehead and out of his eyes. “Was I sleeping?”

“I think so,” Kenny said, looking down at his legs wrapped around Kota’s leg. “But I think I might have fallen asleep too.” He was so warm and soft and _close_ , his tone so heartbreakingly sincere and quiet. Kota felt almost silly with how gently he wanted to preserve this moment.

And it wasn’t like he’d _forgotten_ , really, but he re-realized: they were alone; he could just kiss Kenny anytime he wanted, any way, and for as long as he wanted. He tilted Kenny’s jaw toward him, turning his head to the side, and kissed him lazily and slowly, not bothering to move into a more kiss-conducive position. Just small and sweet kisses, the kind they hadn’t really had space for up to now, inconvenient but tender. Until now it had all been teeth and need and pressure, desperate and breathless, taking as much as possible in as little time as possible. It seemed like they’d both brought that to mind at the same moment, as Kenny pulled the back of Kota’s head into the kiss at the same time Kota squeezed Kenny to him for more contact. The kissing got faster and the breathing got heavier. _Oh god, is this how it starts?_

Kenny pulled away suddenly, looking slightly sheepish and more than a little upset that he’d had to stop. “I, um… I have to pee.” He playfully shoved Kota away from him, and Kota locked his legs around Kenny’s. Kenny laughed, clearly caught off guard by the deliberate immaturity of that. He pushed Kota again, and Kota fell backward dramatically like Kenny had just kicked out of a pin. He started to untangle; “hey the sooner you let me go, the sooner I’ll get back.” Kota had already let him go, and Kenny leaned over and kissed him on the tip of the nose, then popped up, shaking his head at himself as he walked away.

Kota sat up and shook his head too, like he was clearing away dust and trying one more time to confirm this was real. _Michael seriously just left us alone because our not being allowed to be together was *that* insufferable._ He knew he had to stop psyching himself out, and as he heard Kenny in the bathroom, figured he was likely taking some time to do the same. _I know what I want. I know what I’m doing_. Normally that self-pep-talk worked, but he actually wasn’t really sure how well he knew how to… make love? _Ugh, so cheesy_. He cringed at his own melodramatic thought. _But that’s what it is. That’s what I want. Ughhhh_. He shook his head again, _don’t overthink this, dumbass_ , and piled a bunch of pillows against the headboard, then turned down the bed a little. He briefly thought about trying to get totally naked before Kenny got back out of the bathroom, but immediately felt mortified at that thought. He did take off his t-shirt, though, because it was getting warm, or at least he was.

From slightly wilder times, _pre Kenny Omega, as it makes sense to measure my love life these days_ , he’d gotten into the habit of traveling with lube and condoms, and even though he hadn’t needed them in quite some time, his general laziness about such things meant they were still in the same place he'd always kept them. While he didn’t want to be presumptuous, he also understood basic probability, and quickly dug the supplies out of his suitcase, hesitating a bit. A few weeks back, on a longish tour, they’d thought they might have a chance to do… well, this. So they’d made some agreements in case they needed to be quick and opportunistic, and didn’t have everything they needed on hand. But the whole point of now was that they didn’t have to be opportunistic; _Stop. Overthinking. This_. Panicked, he threw them hastily into the bedside drawer so Kenny wouldn’t catch him holding a bunch of lube and condoms. He quickly scanned the room for some extra towels he could throw in there too, but heard the bathroom door open, and froze.

Kenny came around the corner and made a weird little face, seeing Kota with his shirt off and the bed turned back, but as he was sheepishly holding some towels; _good thinking, man_ , he didn’t display much of a reaction. If Kota was being presumptuous, at least Kenny was too. Kenny threw the towels on the other bed furtively, as if maybe Kota wouldn’t notice he’d been holding them. _You’re hilarious; you think I’m looking anywhere but at you right now?_ Kenny made his way back over to the bed, and sat back down.

Kota had of course had flings with other wrestlers before; _I’ve made a lot of bad sex choices, but never one quite as terrible as fucking my tag team partner. Or falling in love with him. Even worse idea_. Their entire job involved entrusting their bodies to each other; having faith that the other would be there to catch them, literally. He’d wondered more than once whether that would make sex better, or whether sex would make wrestling, already such an intimate activity, that much more difficult… or easier? He’d also imagined that he’d be intensely nervous to learn the answer, but he wasn’t, he was… ready, really, was the best word. He breathed for a moment and then laughed self-consciously, realizing what kind of improbable events had led them to this moment. Kenny laughed a little, too, and they shared a little helpless glance.

Kota would have guessed this part would be awkward, as everything had been so tentative up to now, but it wasn't. Kenny reached for Kota’s face and cupped his jaw, pulling him into a kiss, other arm traveling around Kota’s bare waist to lightly trace a finger up his spine. Kota normally appreciated a tease, both giving and receiving, but not today; the last several months had been plenty tease enough. Putting a hand to Kenny’s lower back for support, and never leaving the kiss, Kota climbed onto his knees to straddle Kenny’s lap, and quickly moved to pull off Kenny’s t-shirt. He gently put his hands on Kenny’s chest and leaned back to look at him; so gorgeous with a shaft of afternoon light coming through the curtain to illuminate his curls. They were both breathing heavy already, not from exertion but excitement. Kenny smiled lovingly and Kota returned the smile, then immediately pushed Kenny backward roughly onto the pillow pile he’d made. He could feel that Kenny was hard even through his jeans, so he ground his hips against Kenny’s as he got up. _I guess it’s really happening now_.

Kenny reached out to try to pull Kota toward him, but Kota shoved him back onto the pillows again, and Kenny smirked and stayed down. _I thought you’d like that._ Kota crawled up slowly, reaching for the fly of Kenny’s jeans, peppering his jawline with kisses. He brushed his fingers over the zipper, then with the flat of his hand, rubbed the length of Kenny’s cock through his jeans. Kenny threw his head back into the pillows and sighed, and Kota was a little tempted to tease him more. But only a little. Instead he just unzipped Kenny’s jeans and sweetly tugged them off; thankfully Kenny wasn’t wearing anything else. Breathtaking was too dramatic a word, but Kota did feel his breath catch a little, at the sight of him; heavy-lidded, laid back against the pillows, chest rising and falling faster. Kota realized he had never really gotten a chance to stare like this, and felt a full body rush at confirming how very lovely and inviting Kenny's cock was, perfect as he thought he’d remembered. Just now it was particularly lovely, erect but resting lazily on his firm belly, criminally untouched. _I’ll fix that_. Kenny flushed as he saw Kota’s eyes graze him hungrily. Once again, he sat up to try to reach for Kota, and once again Kota shoved him back into the pillows.

Kota shook his head in mock disappointment and locked his eyes on Kenny’s. “You stay down,” he said, softly and sweetly, smiling mischievously as he saw Kenny’s eyes flash first with surprise and then with aroused appreciation. To drive his point home, Kota held his hand on Kenny’s chest, and left it there as he moved down, down… His other hand wrapped around the base of Kenny’s cock, and Kenny drew air in sharply; Kota felt him twitch against his hand. He wasn’t even going to try to go slowly, he just took as much in his mouth as he possibly could, the tip of his tongue tracing along the shaft as he moved. Kenny made a little _oh_ sound when Kota reached the bottom, and Kota hummed in satisfaction, which garnered him another _oh_. Kenny was so hard and so thick, and Kota saw no reason to pace himself or do anything other than revel in having his lips exactly where he’d wanted them for a very long time.

Giving head was one of his favorite pastimes and most treasured skills, but it had always been too risky for them to attempt in their stolen moments. Kota had craved this so much; when he was alone he’d often thought of how amazing it would be to get Kenny off like this. It all felt just like he’d imagined: smooth velvety skin over enticing hardness, slick and wet and warm; lips, tongue, and hands all working together, moving in concert. Kenny started squirming and biting his lip in frustration, and when Kota didn’t let up, Kenny devolved to helplessly snarling as he covered his face with his hands, then raking his fingernails across Kota’s shoulders. All Kota wanted to do was experiment until he figured out exactly which movement of tongue or lips or hands rewarded him with which manifestation of pleasure, and then master the art of deploying each one expertly, devastatingly.

Within just a few moments, Kenny was no longer able to politely refrain from bucking his hips into Kota’s face; he made little _mmmphf_ noises and pulled Kota’s hair more urgently. Kota now raised his eyes to watch Kenny. From here he could see the muscles in Kenny’s hips and stomach move like waves as Kenny tried to keep his hips still, then finally gave into the impulse, back arched gracefully, one hand clutching the sheets, muscles in his forearm flexing as he twisted his other hand into Kota’s hair. Kenny now looked up, and when he saw that Kota was already watching him, he made an almost defeated-sounding sighing noise, and threw his head back into the pillows, sucking air through his teeth. Kota did not slow his pace or ease the firm pressure of his lips and tongue; he wanted this to feel ruthless and relentless. Kenny’s breathing was ragged now, and he pulled more desperately at Kota’s hair, finally letting a soft, pleading “ _no no nnno_ ” escape his lips. Kota took one more pass all the way down and and back up, before sitting back on his heels to give Kenny a moment. Both their chests heaved, and Kenny swallowed hard, before managing to almost-whisper “ _this can’t be over yet_.” _Oh shit._

The expression on Kenny’s face was so earnestly overwhelmed, much how Kota now felt, himself; _this is really happening_. Kota couldn’t help but stare; Kenny looked flushed and beautiful and almost a little desperate. “It’s not fair,” Kenny purred, tugging at the belt loops on Kota’s jeans, “how could you leave these on? I thought you cared about me.” Kota shivered a little just from Kenny’s fingers brushing softly against him, drawing attention to almost painful hardness.

In response, Kota grabbed a handful of Kenny’s hair and pulled it back sharply, so Kenny’s neck was bare and exposed. Kenny let out a little gasp of surprise, but then immediately _mmm_ ed gratefully as Kota nipped at the delicate skin there. Kota now graduated to viciously biting and sucking, and to Kenny's credit, that didn’t slow his work getting Kota’s jeans off. They hadn’t actually been naked around each other at all, Kota now realized; even that time in the shower, clothes were moved aside instead of removed. It seemed a little silly, to feel so exposed when they already knew so much about each other, not just from all the desperately secretive groping, but from working as a team, and from being best friends in addition to… whatever this was. But he did feel oddly self-conscious, until he saw the look on Kenny’s face; tender, awed, and hungry.

Kota sat back on his heels next to Kenny, who closed his mouth and smirked salaciously, appreciatively, laying his hands gently on Kota’s thighs, thumbs softly exploring the more sensitive skin toward the inside. Kota nearly jumped: that skin was almost unbearably sensitive, and Kenny evidently already knew how a soft brush of fingers against inner thigh could cause waves of shivers. “Oooh,” Kenny said quietly, as though touched by a thoughtful gift, “what could I possibly have done to deserve this?” Kota could feel his cheeks flush and dick twitch, at that. He hadn’t really considered a universe in which that sentiment felt loving and comforting rather than shallow as it normally did, but he was starting to get used to being softly awed by Kenny Omega on a regular basis. He’d usually have something charming to say, but he wasn’t exactly accustomed to staring at an incredibly sexy man naked in front of him and only being able to think _I love you_. As Kenny continued to edge his fingers closer to where Kota wanted them, Kota watched him, letting his gaze travel up from beautifully wide, muscular thighs, to a thick cock he wished was still in his mouth, a taut stomach and broad chest and shoulders, until he was back to those golden curls framing a sweet, wide-eyed face.

Kenny, having finally, obediently learned that he was _not_ to get up from the pillows, pulled Kota’s face toward him, so that Kota was on all fours hovering over him. Despite the desperate heat in their breathing, this kiss happened slowly; first tongues to lips, then nudging mouths open, then pressing hard enough to pin Kenny’s head back into the pillows. This allowed Kota to look cool and slick, as he didn’t even have to open his eyes to reach over and grab the lube out of the bedside drawer. Leaning back slightly so Kenny had a nice view, he squeezed some onto the pads of his fingers and spread it on, stroking himself agonizingly slowly. He then did the same to Kenny, who was already thrusting into Kota’s hand. Kota leaned down to continue the kiss and wrapped an arm around Kenny’s waist, pulling their hips into each other and taking them both in his hand at once, feeling them slide against each other with a perfect mixture of slickness and friction. He lightly kissed Kenny’s collarbone as he rocked his hips back and forth, and Kenny clasped his hands to Kota’s upper arms so he had enough leverage to softly buck his hips. It was almost overwhelming, and for once Kota didn’t even try to look cool, he just grabbed onto Kenny’s shoulder and lightly sank his teeth there to mitigate some of the unbearably electric sensation, letting himself collapse. Kenny used one hand to grab Kota’s ass and pull him in even more tightly. His mouth was now right against Kota’s ear, and he made little hissing and gasping noises with every movement of their hips.

Kota almost couldn’t take how fucking sexy it was to have all of that feedback; the sounds of air through clenched teeth, a hand squeezing his ass, and the other sunk into the back of his arm, all the while sliding against each other, keeping as much contact as he could manage. Kenny took his hand away from Kota’s arm and instead thrust it into Kota’s hair, firmly holding Kota’s head right up against his mouth, so close that Kota could feel the movement of both air and lips against his ear as Kenny hissed, “ _fuck me. Just like this. Please_.” _Holy shit_. He lifted his head to look at Kenny, who almost looked pained as he breathed, “ _please, Kota_.” Kenny tried to hide a smirk, but his face betrayed that he knew exactly what that _please, Kota_ would do. _Holy. Shit. Fuck_. In any other circumstance, Kota would have immediately switched to an agonizingly slow pace to show Kenny that _he_ doesn’t get to make the demands around here. _But not today_.

Kota reached into the still-open drawer for a condom, and Kenny put a hand on his waist. “I’m still fine without it, but I’ll leave it up to you. I win either way,” Kenny somehow managed to sound a little bashful, and blushed as he smiled.

 _I love that dumb goofy smile_. Kota closed the drawer, grabbed the bottle of lube, and took a little before handing it to Kenny. They watched each other, Kenny gently arching his back to insert lubed-up fingers, Kota stroking himself to add more slickness. Smiling, he inserted a finger alongside Kenny’s own, and Kenny relaxed as Kota searched for the spot to hit. Kenny tensed when he found it, and then relaxed again. "You okay?” Kota asked, positioning himself pressing up against Kenny. Kenny nodded. “Are you ready?” he asked softly, and Kenny didn’t reply, just dreamily dragged his fingers down the front of Kota’s hips, nodding.

Kota wrapped one arm around Kenny’s thigh, locked his eyes on Kenny’s, and slowly and gently pushed in. He would have thought that this would be either desperately, hungrily physical, or overwhelmingly emotionally charged, but really, it was neither. He still had to force himself to be very deliberate about going slow at first, and he still felt a flush of relieved joy at the idea that this was finally happening. But mostly, _holy fuck_ it felt so good, just purely tight and tense and warm. _Fuck_. He slowly began increasing his speed, and Kenny threw his head back onto the pillows, grabbing at them with both hands, exhaling deeply. Kota let himself fall forward onto Kenny’s chest again, one hand wrapping around Kenny’s cock and the other tangled in Kenny’s hair, accenting a deep and slow kiss with little tugs. He matched the speed and intensity of his tongue with the stroke of his hand and the thrust of his dick, all the while feeling every inch of dangerous tightness as Kenny softly rocked his hips against his thrusts.

Kenny made soft little _mmmph_ noises into Kota’s mouth and gradually began pushing back more and harder. He buried his face against Kenny’s neck, breathing ragged against his collarbone. He paused for a moment, and summoned some strength to push himself up onto his knees, never pulling out, just gently repositioning Kenny as he moved. With a slightly different angle, Kenny clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a loud, long gasp. He started bucking his hips erratically into Kota’s hand, movement guided entirely by sensation. Kenny reached his hands up and rested them on Kota’s hips, his thumbs softly rubbing the hollow along Kota’s hipbone. Kota leaned into the soft touch, making Kenny’s thumbs press harder. The waves of shivers caused Kota to collapse forward again.

Kota now reached a point where he simply gave into whatever impulse the heat and hardness required, and his thrusts got faster and more aggressive. He knew he was close, and he knew it hadn’t been that long. But he just couldn’t care about pacing himself, about proving his stamina or skill, about drawing out the experience. There would be time for that, he reminded himself. Face pressed against Kenny’s shoulder, losing any control or ability to hold back; little high-pitched _uh_ s escaped his lips, and he didn’t even care how silly he might sound. Kenny was humming a low, nasal growl into Kota’s ear, hand tangled in Kota’s hair. Kota let out a stifled little shudder as he ground his hips against Kenny in hard, slow, circular thrusts, feeling every bit of contact outside and in.

Kenny’s face contorted in frustration, and he bit his lower lip, breathing in sharply as Kota found the right spot with each slow thrust. He was close. “ _I can’t…_ _fuck, I’m going to… oh fuck, please_ ,” Kenny said, under his breath, almost like he was talking to himself.

Kota didn’t say anything, just growled an assent. He pushed to stay as deep inside as he could, almost mercilessly stroking and twisting his palm over the head of Kenny’s cock. Kenny pulled Kota’s hair so their cheeks were pressed together and his lips were right next to Kota’s ear, so Kota could hear his ragged, breathless _ah_ s, which increased in speed as Kota viciously increased the speed and angle at which he was stroking Kenny’s cock. Kenny twisted his hand in Kota’s hair, pulling back hard as he snapped his hips aggressively against Kota’s, snarling through clenched teeth, he finally drew in a sharp breath against Kota’s ear, cock pulsing as he came all over his stomach and Kota’s hand, whole body tensing up almost overwhelmingly.

That was too much. Kota opened his mouth against Kenny’s collarbone and managed an _oh_ that almost sounded sad. Kenny seemed to sense what that meant, and said calmly and quietly, “ _do it. Go. Now_.” Kota was more than happy to oblige, and sank in as deeply as he could. Teeth on collarbone, nails into the skin of Kenny’s shoulder, he let out a spasming, high-pitched gasp as he came, shuddering and shaking as he rocked his hips to keep the last few thrusts as deep as possible. Kenny fell back against the pillows, with Kota flopping inelegantly on top of him.

There was cum pooling between them, but Kota really didn’t mind or even necessarily notice it. He took his free hand, finding Kenny’s hand, and intertwined their fingers together, resting his head on Kenny’s chest as they let their breathing sync up and slow down. Kota looked up at Kenny and Kenny bent his head down awkwardly to give him an incongruously chaste kiss on the lips. Kota laid his head back down and for some reason he could not immediately discern, giggled self-consciously a little. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself to actually say anything, as all he really felt besides drowsy (and a little embarrassed about his stamina) was almost unbearably warm, mushy, _vulnerable_ feelings. _When was the last time that happened to me?_

Kenny kissed him on the forehead and brushed a hand through his hair. “Hey… we did it.” _What?_ Kota was a little confused but also a little relieved, that Kenny seemed to feel similarly about the gravity of what had just happened. _Since when does fucking count as a milestone? I’m doomed._ Kota nodded slowly against Kenny’s chest, and Kenny kissed his forehead again and said, “we saved professional wrestling.”

 _Oh. Oh god. Dammit._ “I’m not sure,” Kota said, propping himself on his elbow. “I mean, do you think just once would save an entire industry?” Kenny made a thoughtful, concerned face, as though Kota had made a troublingly good point. “No, Kenny, I think that was a quick stopgap. We should probably see what else we can do to help.”

Kenny laughed like he’d been trying to bat away nervousness; he sounded relieved somehow. “I admire your dedication to our craft. It’s inspiring."

“Thank you.” Kota slowly began the process of untangling, mostly so he could reach one of the towels Kenny had put on the other bed. "Maybe now we’ll be a little less distracted. I was thinking maybe we could try winning a match or two? Maybe… this will help?”

“It worked for the Greeks,” Kenny said seriously.

 _You fucking nerd_. Kota threw two towels at Kenny’s face. “Excellent point. Let’s call our boss right away.”

Kenny laughed, and it was the best sound in the world. He tugged Kota’s wrist and Kota fell back down onto the pillows, legs spread. Kenny shifted to sit between Kota’s legs, head leaned back on his shoulder. “He’ll be so glad to hear it,” Kenny said, and Kota felt a sharp sadness when he remembered they’d eventually have to rejoin the world, after this.

He slid his arms around Kenny’s shoulders, squeezing him tight and smacking kisses onto the side of his neck. “Let’s call him from the shower.”


	6. Ad astra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny has a lot of feelings about the Golden Lovers' match at Budokan, and also their entire relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note: This chapter received major edits on March 31st, 2018. It's longer and very very different in tone now.**
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter takes place four days after the Golden Lovers' October 2012 match against each other at Budokan, which at the time was called the best match of all time. Ibushi entered the match as both KO-D Openweight champ (the match was for that title) and IWGP Junior Heavyweight champ. This chapter also makes reference to a 2010 match in which the Golden Lovers were forced to team up with other partners and fight against each other.
> 
> The chapter also references the fictionalized founding of the Golden Lovers (chapter 2), and has the guys living together and having a cat together. "Hoshi" means "star".
> 
> Chapter rating: G  
> Chapter word count: 3.3k  
> [Original version of this chapter](https://golden--lovers.tumblr.com/post/164110395693/silver-and-gold-chapter-4) (tumblr)

* * *

 

Kenny woke up achy. Cotton-headed, confused. One of those disorienting moments he hated, where you wake up and wonder what time it is, what day it is, and whether you’d woken up from a nap or sleep. It always made him feel out of sorts. As he opened his eyes, he realized why he was achy and immobile: Kota had fallen asleep on him, snuggled on the couch under a blanket. Kota had dragged in the comforter from their bed and curled up laying between Kenny’s legs with his head on Kenny’s shoulder, resting on his upper arm. Kenny had his arms around Kota’s waist and shoulders; he’d been multitasking, playing a video game while cuddling. He’d become an expert at it long ago; his significant others somehow always eventually figured out that his snuggles were most available while he was distracted by a game. Kota had been laying there watching Kenny play, just being close, and then Hoshi jumped onto Kota's lap, purring, and promptly fell asleep. After that, there was a cascading effect: since Kota couldn’t get up for fear of disturbing the cat, he’d dozed off. Then Kenny couldn’t bring himself to wake those adorably sleeping stars, and he’d fallen asleep as well.

And now that he’d been awake for a few moments, he remembered that he’d been playing video games to distract himself from how he was feeling: awful, both physically and emotionally. Looking at Kota now, _fucking angelic of course,_ it wasn’t fair, he couldn’t stay upset, and he wasn’t upset with Kota anyway. Not really. Four days ago they’d had the biggest match of their lives. Kota, like always, came in excited to have fun with Kenny, to push each other to the limits and see what kind of trouble they could get into. Kota never took things too seriously, yet he was the one who came into the match with two championship belts, to Kenny’s zero. It had always been like that, and as much as Kenny loved him _(helplessly, hopelessly)_ , he’d spent the last couple of years fighting resentment and the guilt that comes with resenting the love of your life. Kota had to know. _You just show up and you’re dazzling. I work my ass off, and I’m still in your shadow._ He hated himself for feeling one shred of negativity towards Kota, who didn’t deserve it, who tried to ignore it, who genuinely and earnestly thought Kenny was the greatest, who was Kenny’s biggest fan. That made it worse.

Two years ago, DDT had thought it would be funny to pit them against each other, on tag teams with other people. They’d been together for a year and a half, and _together_ for almost a year, so fighting each other was hard, and something they’d avoided; it was a blast, but the emotional toll was too high. They couldn’t bring themselves to hurt each other, in part because they were too close to apply the necessary remove it takes to inflict pain on someone else, but also because they knew the bookers never _really_ wanted them to be a tag team. They worried that if they were still good opponents, they’d have to face each other again. Worse, they were scared they'd be forced to break up the Golden Lovers, which at the time was their lifeline, their reason to be together as often as they were. So in the beginning of the match, they almost comically refused to land punches or sink into holds. They even tried turning on their partners, fighting as a team, but it didn’t work; someone had to win the match.

That match ended up being the reason DDT had pressured them for two years until they’d finally given in and agreed to face each other again. They'd done the opposite of what they’d intended; gradually, they'd fallen into a rhythm of fighting each other, and their attempt to sabotage the match in order not to repeat it utterly failed. It was still there: that heady, overwhelming magic they’d felt that very first time, except now blossomed into an even more sublime exchange, now that they knew each other innately in so many ways. It had only lasted a few minutes, but it was the most incredible thing Kenny had ever felt, almost as natural and intimate as the nights they spent together whenever they could, and every bit as charged. Easy. _Fun._ Perfectly, beautifully in sync, fluid and fast and hypnotic. They’d barely managed to get their shoes off when they’d gotten back to Kota’s apartment that night before desperately abandoning themselves to the heat they’d built. The electric, sensual energy of the match demanded consummation; exhaustion and aching muscles forgotten and ignored in favor of pure expression, of the need to bring that unbelievable physical and emotional connection to its fullest potential. It felt exhausting and unquenchable, that need to explore every corner of what they’d tapped into.

It had been decidedly _not_ like that when they’d gotten home four nights ago. Although the experience had been indescribable the first time, it still took a toll they weren’t looking to repeat, and when they _did_ repeat it, they were reminded again why they’d been so against it. The match had lasted some forty minutes, for one thing. For another, going to that place in their shared mind, even when it had happened before, was as emotionally taxing as it was addictive, and to feel that exposed to another person for so long, especially in front of so many people, was utterly draining. This time, they barely got their shoes off before they collapsed with exhaustion. And Kenny hated to admit it, but this time, proud as he was of the incredible match they’d put on, he felt empty and miserable about losing it. It was such a strong and loathsome feeling that he slept on the couch, using the convenient (and partly true) excuse that he was too tired to make it to bed.

But he suspected Kota _(why are you so relentlessly kind?)_ had sensed it anyway, because he’d made a point to give Kenny space for the last few days, even though that was tough in their Tokyo-sized apartment. They’d never had too much trouble sharing space, even so little space, because they never really forgot how hard it had once been to be apart. But Kota had found reasons to be out, visiting his family, going shopping, running errands. In fact, dragging the comforter into the living room had been his way of saying ‘can we please be close again now?’ _How could I ever say no?_ Kenny felt like everything was twisted, it was easy for Kota to be gracious, he’d won, after all. It felt like Kenny was surrounded on all sides by self-loathing, no matter which way he went he’d stumble into the ugly, sickening feeling of resenting Kota while knowing Kota didn’t deserve it. But when Kota had fallen asleep on him, most of that melted away, and all Kenny could really feel was bone-deep comfort (emotional if not physical), knowing he was, no matter what else was happening, somewhere he belonged.

More awake now, he could see that the clock said 4:50, but in the weird wintry grey sky with no lights on in the apartment, he couldn’t immediately tell whether that was am or pm. _I shouldn’t have been so stubborn about switching to military time, like the rest of the world uses_. Kota had asked exactly once, and Kenny said “well it’s pretty obvious if you just look out a window, eh?” _Glad you’re not awake to give me shit_. Kota had easily relented, with a small kiss on the cheek, saying he wanted Kenny to have whatever bits of home he could. _Tokyo is home already; you’re here_. Kenny hadn’t said that out loud, _I really should have_ but he’d kept the clocks on North American display to remember that small sweetness whenever he looked at the time. _I admit it makes less sense, but at least I know you love me. Not that you’d ever let me forget it. Even when you’re winning, you let me know however you can. Damn you._

Four nights ago, Kota had climbed a scaffolding, up to a high balcony, and not even looked back before a daring dive. Not a smart offensive technique, but Kota loved risks like that, and so did the fans, so that had been one of the few things they’d agreed on in advance. Yeah, they were fighting, but they’d decided if DDT was going to make them fight each other, they’d do it their way, and they allowed themselves some fun here and there. No one else knew they were going to do it, it had felt so deliciously disobedient to plan, a secret only they knew. The lights were in Kenny’s eyes but he was ready when Kota jumped, and all he could think was _you love me, you idiot, you didn’t even look. You just trusted I’d be there._ A very strange moment for Kenny to feel such an overwhelming thing, _you just knew I’d catch you. You didn’t question it for a second._ It was silly, but it was probably the most he’d ever let himself feel how much Kota really did love him. High above Kenny, bathed in light, the Golden Star looked as brilliant and beautiful as the first evening stars in the sky. It all seemed to go in slow motion after that, and for just a moment, Kenny had the best view in the house to admire one of the world’s prettiest moonsaults.

He remembered now, it was 4:50 _pm_ , they’d fallen asleep while it was still sunny enough outside not to need lights; the patchy clouds and dark had crept in while they napped. Both of them could fall asleep under any circumstance; wrestlers learn how to do it pretty quickly as a means of survival. But Kenny was a light and fitful sleeper, while Kota could go from alert and giggly to unwakeable lump in what seemed like seconds. The weight of his head on Kenny’s chest and upper arm was cramping and tingling, made worse from the all-over ache after the match, but Kenny didn’t want to move him, not yet. He probably wouldn’t have woken up even if Kenny had shoved his dead weight to the side so he could at least get up and pee, but Kenny didn’t want to take the risk. Conflicted as he felt, they had so few moments like this together _like normal goddamn people_ , and he’d certainly endured far more pain for far less beautiful things. And as long as Kota was asleep, Kenny could pretend to forget about the tangly mess of feelings in his chest.

He quietly set his controller down on the arm of the couch, and stretched his free arm as far as he could, barely managing to reach the table lamp and turn it on. He rested his head on Kota’s, tightening his squeeze, and Kota instinctively nuzzled closer in his sleep. Hoshi repositioned herself slightly too. It wasn’t often that Kenny had a quiet stretch of time where nothing occupied his attention. He slowly stroked Kota’s hair, lightly brushing it off his forehead to make room for the soft kiss that so obviously belonged there. Up close he could see lines starting to form, _we're getting older, I guess._ He wondered how much older he looked compared to when they met, at the same time endlessly grateful for markers of the years passing; _let's hope for many, many more, eh?_ He was relieved at that thought, he realized; it meant the angsty despair he felt about losing the match—about how great Kota was and how great _he_ wasn’t—was temporary, and couldn’t hold up to the enormity of their connection, which felt permanent; Kenny never really questioned whether he’d be able to stay in love for the rest of his life. He sat like that for a while, cheek to forehead, absent-mindedly smoothing Kota’s mop of hair, thinking about things that felt permanent and things that felt temporary. The pain in his shoulder, the self-loathing despair. Temporary. _Thank god._

He suddenly recalled a few years ago, one of the rare times they’d been able to sneak some precious time alone together and used it to do something _other_ than breathlessly, greedily paw at each other. Evading the watchful eyes of their chaperones happened infrequently, so such times were often reserved for frantically taking as much of each other as they could get their hands and mouths on, until they tired themselves out and collapsed from exhaustion. _Sneaking was exciting and wild, but this is infinitely better. Permanent._ But Kenny knew then that he was in love with Kota, because sometimes they used those stolen moments just to be close, or crack each other up. That night, they were in a park, in a secluded area among some trees and rose bushes. Kota had taken Kenny’s hand with both of his, like he had that day he christened them the Golden Lovers. _'We’re in love.' Heh._ He'd laid his head on Kenny’s shoulder, like he was doing right now. For all Kenny had clumsily, almost _pathetically_ crushed on him, for all Kenny’s insecurity and feelings of unworthiness, _Kota_ had been the first one to mention _love_ out loud, first when it was a scheme, and again, when it wasn't.

He’d said “thank you for letting me love you.” So strange, the heart-stopping ice water shock of that first time compared with the organic domestic ease of several times a day, now. See you later, _love you_. Thanks for folding the laundry; you know I hate it, _love you_. Goodnight. _I love you_. And a few days ago, at the end of the match, when Kenny had tried to get up after the three count, Kota had pulled him back down into his lap, and leaned over him. _You were so amazing. I love you._ Kenny couldn’t say much of anything, he just _hurt_ more than he could possibly describe, inside and out. But Kota wouldn’t leave him, couldn’t let them be separated. He’d collapsed onto Kenny’s chest, then brought his face right next to Kenny’s, _I love you_ , not caring that there were cameras and medics inches away, and the whole audience at Budokan and everyone watching on TV could see it all.Kenny still couldn’t speak, or even really move, but he managed to feebly push Kota's hair away from his eyes, like he had a few moments ago while watching him sleep peacefully. After the ring announcer and ref had forced Kota to get up, have his hand raised, get his belts back, he immediately knelt down next to Kenny again, and said it one more time, looking like the words were pathetically insufficient for what he was feeling. _I love you._

That night at the park a few years back, Kota had nervously stuttered over the words; now as natural as breathing, not so, then. His usual boldness had vanished. _Thank you for letting me love you._ Like it was some kind of chore. Like it wasn’t the greatest gift Kenny would ever be given. Like it wasn’t the thing Kenny had wanted most in the world since the moment he’d first seen Kota. _Like I really had any choice in the matter at all_. _Permanent._ He'd never told Kota, because it was _so fucking corny_ , but sometimes the smell of roses reminded him of that night. _You have no idea how stupidly sentimental you make me._ Kota thought _he_ was the sentimental one. Kenny would let him think that.

Kota was still sleeping peacefully, breathing softly, and Kenny’s shoulder was on fire. He grabbed a nearby throw pillow, positioned it on his lap, and gently laid Kota’s head on it, freeing his embattled arm. Kota, naturally, did not wake up, but as he shifted he took Kenny’s hand and clutched it to his chest with both hands, trapping Kenny again. _At least it’s my other arm_. _The slowest, softest, sweetest submission match. You win again, my Golden Star_. Hoshi stood and stretched as though inconvenienced, but noticing that Kenny was more conscious, and thus more able to pet her, climbed across Kota’s arm and stood on his neck. Not even that woke him, so Hoshi continued her trek and relocated to the arm of the couch, easily in Kenny’s reach. He scratched her ear, and she immediately calmed down and closed her eyes. _Well I won that submission match, at least_.

He’d been so anxious, and so angry at himself. It had been like this, the past few years, but the match had brought all of Kenny’s worst and most shameful feelings to the forefront. Kota had done his best to make things more comfortable, but Kenny wasn’t sure how much he saw; Kota had a bad habit of stubbornly ignoring things that had a whiff of jealousy or resentment. Kenny had thought about bringing it up, but the whole thing just made him sick in a thousand different ways. So he had mostly silently spent the past few days in a vicious cycle of resentment and crushing guilt. But now, in the soft golden light of the early evening he couldn’t help but feel soothed by the heartbreaking vulnerability of someone who really loved him, asleep on his chest. _Surrounded by sleeping stars. The most home I’ve ever felt, across the world from everything familiar_. Kenny’s hand was cramping badly and getting sweaty. _You win yet again, just like always, you’re not even trying._ Kenny sighed, and batted away a pang of guilt. _Temporary._ He slowly pulled his hand free, pausing to move Kota’s hair out of his eyes again. _I’m yours_. _Permanent._

Kota _mrr-_ ed, turning onto his back, rubbing his face like a confused kid. He tried and failed to open his eyes, but did manage to grab Kenny’s arm again and pull Kenny's hand to his face, planting small sleepy kisses on his knuckles. “Is it night or day?” he asked dreamily, clearly not completely aware of what he was saying. He was still rubbing his eyes, trying in vain to open them.

Luckily, having recently asked himself the same question, Kenny knew what Kota meant. Before he could think of the proper way to answer, Kota hummed a little, and managed, “ _mmmmm_ never mind.” He squirmed under his blanket. “It doesn't matter…” he mumbled incoherently, squeezing Kenny’s arm and faintly smiling, eyes still closed. “I can’t wake up. You’re too… _mmm…”_ He yawned. “You win, Kenny-tan,” he slurred. Kenny felt like his chest was going to cave in with the mixture of guilt and elation that made him feel; two warring reactions immediately coming to mind. _But never when it counts_ was the first. _Temporary._ The second was _yes. Yes, I do. You love me. Permanent._ Kota tugged Kenny’s shoulder toward him, tilting his chin up in the universal gesture for _kiss me but don’t wake me up_. Kenny happily obliged, slow and sweet and drowsy, like evening falling outside. “ _mmmm_ I love you, okay?” Kota slurred as he turned back on his side, still holding Kenny’s hand and kissing his knuckles. He was back asleep in seconds, with Kenny’s hand still held to his lips; Kenny's wrist, _of course_ , uncomfortably contorted.

“Okay.” Kenny smiled as he glanced out the window, noticing the first stars appearing in the sky.


	7. Hangovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dudes are dealing with the immediate-ish aftermath of breaking up, and their feelings about kids, family, toothbrushes, hangovers, getting old, being understood, etc.
> 
> (cw: alcohol [over]use; oblique reference to barfin')

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter received an overhaul on March 31st, 2018. It's still mostly the same in content.**
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter takes place a few weeks after the events of Invasion Attack 2015 (April), where Kenny distracted Ibushi during Ibushi's match against Bullet Club leader AJ Styles. He cost Ibushi the IWGP Heavyweight Championship.
> 
> Chapter rating: T (alcohol)  
> Chapter word count: 2.6k  
> [Original version of this chapter](https://golden--lovers.tumblr.com/post/164114294632/silver-and-gold-chapter-5) (tumblr)

* * *

 

Somewhere around the 5th moonsault off a picnic table… or was it the 7th vodka shot? Kota got that horrible, I’m- _definitely_ -going-to-puke feeling. He was smart enough to know that it made his friends uncomfortable, when he’d get _that_ drunk, but tonight he just couldn’t care. _How melodramatic, drinking to forget. Ugh._ He almost welcomed the sour, dizzy, self-loathing stupor that he knew would soon turn into sitting on the bathroom floor with a bottle of water, a wet towel, and a horrible taste in his mouth; waiting to feel strong enough to stand up and brush his teeth. By now it had happened often enough that he didn’t even need the pity-eyed, concerned-but-judging help of someone who cared, bringing him more water or re-wetting his towel; escorting him to bed. _Which is good, because I’ll be alone regardless of whether I want to be. Alone in the morning, too, so no one has to see this mess._

Every morning had been paralyzingly heavy, full of dread, since Kenny left. When it first happened, Kota's mother had come to stay for a week or so. _I hope I thanked her enough. I couldn’t see beyond the misery, ugh, what an asshole._ She may not have always known what to say, but it was viscerally comforting to know someone cared enough to do the laundry and bother him to eat; just to know someone was _there_ , really. Every morning she’d open the windows to let the spring air and sunshine in, and Kota knew it was probably good for him. She was stubborn about it, knowing he just wanted to hide, and he appreciated how much she tried to will him out of despair, but he almost didn’t want to see sunshine just now; spring felt like a grotesque, mocking pall over what should have been dead and dark. _How dramatic. Ugh._ Twice during her visit he’d crumpled onto the couch in unbearable sorrow, and she held him silently, her hand running softly between his shoulders, stroking the back of his neck. _Oh, my Kota-chan_. She’d probably saved his life. _She doesn’t have to understand me; her hands in my hair are more comforting than almost anyone else’s. Almost._

Tonight, someone had poured him into a cab and he'd made it back into his apartment, somehow. He did remember stumbling into the kitchen and being actually _grateful_ for his roiling stomach and spinning head, _I live alone now_ , he’d remembered foggily; he knew vaguely that that was a gruesome fact, but not quite _why_ it was, and didn’t have enough properly functioning brain cells to continue the train of thought. _Mission accomplished_. He even managed to get his shoes off before he, as predicted, spent… who knows how long, really… sitting on the cold bathroom floor, craving death. He figured he fell asleep a couple of times, leaning against the toilet. _I’m too old for this, probably. I could stop soon, maybe, but… not yet._ He hadn’t done a shot (or a moonsault) in… three hours? and his head was still spinning. _At least no one’s here to see me be so pathetic._

His mom had been gone for a couple of weeks now, and he was _wasted_ , and the apartment was full of ghosts. _I thought there were two toothbrushes._ He felt okay to leave the bathroom, finally, but still stumbled to bed. _This bed used to be our bed._ He knew he’d be legendarily hung over tomorrow, but pain didn’t matter much. _I’d rather have every hangover I’ve ever had, all at once, tomorrow morning than do this morning again_. Not that he really needed a reason to get drunk and take stupid risks, _who cares what happens to me?_ , but the weight of this morning had given him a great excuse to get _really_ drunk and _really_ stupid. _I hope it’s enough_.

The reason it had been so unbearable… _ugh_ … he’d dreamt of… _just sleep just sleep don’t think_ … It was one of those rare dreams that makes sense, that’s linear and lucid. A very un-dreamlike dream that feels like a glimpse into some other concurrent reality. A dream he’d woken up _wishing_ had been nonsensical and formless.

Twins. A boy and a girl; in the dream they were maybe five years old. He was creeping through the apartment hallway late at night, returning home from being on the road. Though he’d moved as silently as possible, the moment his key hit the lock he could hear their heavy-treading feet on the other side of the door, running to greet him. He’d barely unlocked the door before it swung open from inside. _Papaaaa!_ He dropped his bag and crouched to the floor so they could jump on him, one in each arm, and shower his face with kisses that he didn’t care were sticky for some reason. _Daddy, Papa’s home!_ He stood, lifting them both at once, to riotous giggles and little legs wrapping around his waist. By then Kenny had made it to the door too; _We missed you so much Papa. We just finished our book._ Kenny looked understandably exhausted and relieved as he threw his arms around Kota and the kids all at once. Kota kissed him, long and slow and sweet. He and Kenny both struggled to contain smiles, reveling in the kids’ _my-parents-are-kissing_ squeals of disgust, lengthening the kiss absurdly to make the kids squirm. _I thought I knew what home was until I came home to the three of you._

When he'd felt himself slipping back into consciousness, he clawed desperately at receding sleep, _please just let me be with them a little longer_. In the twilight between sleep and awake, he'd felt it all deep into his bones; absolute exhilaration and boundless love at the sight of them. That chest-cracking-open joy was so _real_ , so heartbreakingly bare and tender; huger than anything he could remember feeling in waking life. He’d always loved children; sometimes he ached for the father he probably wouldn’t be, missed the sweet faces of the little ones who'd probably never be in the cards for him, _especially not now, without Canada. Without Kenny._ After he'd woken up, he laid still until the last shred of memory of the dream had left him. He'd stayed in bed for another hour and a half, teary-eyed, silent, unmoving, numb.He couldn’t remember ever grieving so much for something he'd never had.

_I’d choose a hangover every time._

 

* * *

 

Kenny woke up in his parents’ house, and for a moment was disoriented. The time change was such a nightmare that usually he didn’t even try to adjust, he just stayed exhausted and underslept the whole time he was there. _Not much different from usual._ But this time he’d be home ( _home?_ ) for a while. He couldn’t go back, not yet. He rolled out of bed and staggered toward the bathroom, trying to recall _why exactly_ dread sat on his chest like a stone. When he looked in the mirror, that was when he remembered: for some reason the sight of his own face looking haggard and pale, the visceral evidence of time passing, was the reminder of what he’d done. _What I’ve lost. Oh god._ The dread now felt like it belonged exactly where it was.

Maybe it was being in the house he grew up in, but while he was brushing his teeth, he suddenly remembered a passage he’d once memorized from a Hemingway short story, when he was a Dark and Depressed teen and it felt So Deep and Meaningful. _“In the morning there was a big wind blowing and the waves were running high up on the beach and he was awake a long time before he remembered that his heart was broken.”_ Thinking about it now it sounded so melodramatic. _It fits, though. It feels right, dramatic as it is. I mean, not that I'm not dramatic. But every morning I have to remember again._

He had been the one to break it off; Kenny had been the one to do _everything_ , but that didn’t make him feel less gutted. _It’ll never be easy even when it’s necessary. And it was, it was necessary. It was_. He didn’t regret it, exactly—he and Kota would have kept holding each other back, _definitely,_ and definitely he had opportunities now, with the Bullet Club. He wasn’t questioning his decision, of course, because he’d made it and it didn’t matter _now_ whether it was right or whether he'd gotten what he needed out of it. _What’s done is done. Besides, he’ll never, ever forgive me._ Kenny figured it was better that way; Kota was stubborn as hell and as fierce a fighter outside the ring as in it. _He’d never have just let me go, he would have wanted to fight for “us”, whatever that was_. Kenny _had_ to do it the way he did, he was sure, because if Kota didn’t hate him, he would have just stubbornly kept loving him. _That makes sense, right? And I couldn’t grow with him around, could I? He’d be my safety net. I’m not weak. I have to take risks to be great. And if I fail, I fail, even if I have to be alone. I’ll be fine. I will._

The house was unusually quiet, considering his sister and her husband and kids had come to stay so they could be there while he was. He now felt like a person between two worlds, his life was in Japan, but it had started here, and now neither felt completely comfortable. _How had I not really noticed before? Oh. Ohh..._ He sipped some coffee and watched out the bay window as his nieces and nephew played on the backyard swingset he’d helped his dad build for them. It was still too cold and wet to play outside, but today was one of the first sunny days of spring, and the backyard beckoned. He liked kids, but he’d never really been enchanted by any until his oldest niece had come along. He’d fallen _hard_ , then. Kenny knew intellectually that kids were a lot of work, but he couldn’t imagine ever getting sick of those three kids out there, with their apple cheeks in the bright early spring crispness. He loved their scream-laughs and their wild energy, and it twisted his chest a little how fast they grew. And these particular kids were so wise; _they never stop looking for ways to love others and have fun_. _This is the part where Kota would say—_ no, never mind that. Kenny couldn’t be part of _us_ anymore, now he was _him_ : it was never going to be “the kids can’t wait to see _you and Kota_ ” or “when are _you guys_ coming to visit?” again. _That’s what I had to do. He was making me weak. There wasn't another way. That shouldn’t ache as much as it does._

 _Uncle Kennyyyyyy!!!_ The kids thundered into the house, their mother breathlessly (and futilely) yelling after them from the back door to take their shoes off. Kenny put down his coffee to free his hands for whatever antics unclehood would require of him in the next few seconds. It turned out to be collapsing to the floor dramatically as they bowled him over with hugs, _some of my best work, I have to say._

One at a time, the three of them Too-Sweeted Kenny, and they each had a secret high-five too, unique to them. Kenny could never remember the individual combinations very well, he had to let the kids help him through. The kids looked around awkwardly, though, and all three of them shrank a little in their demeanor. _Kota was always the one who remembered the combos perfectly, no matter how long it had been_ , Kenny realized. Kenny’s nieces and nephew were some of Kota’s most favorite people in the world—he’d doted on them in a way Kenny had never seen him treat anyone else. He remembered their birthdays and favorite things, asked about them constantly, and always thought the long flights to Canada were worth it, when they were waiting at the end. He’d never been good with English, and Kenny had never seen him study _anything ever_ —let alone English—until he met the kids. Not even falling in love with Kenny had been motivation enough to apply himself to learning English, but he adored children, and finally having some in his life had compelled him. By their last visit, _did I know then it would be *the* last?_ , he’d gotten confident enough to read them _The Cat in the Hat_. _He practiced reading it at home when he thought I wasn’t around._ The kids evidently appreciated his effort and fell asleep lying on him, sprawled on the couch. Then he’d fallen asleep too; _I never loved him more than when I saw the four of them passed out open-mouthed on the couch_. It was all too much to think of right now. _I wonder if he’s realized he’ll never see them again._ It sliced through him. _Time to make new memories._

The kids had very clearly been informed that Uncle Kota would not be around and instructed not to ask about him under any circumstances. All of them being under 10 years old, though, they hadn’t yet mastered the bittersweet adult art of masking disappointment and wistfulness; _kids don’t have an everything-is-fine face, they don’t bullshit_. Kenny froze; for a few moments Kota’s absence was its own presence, and Kenny felt the breath leaving his chest. He threw his arms around all three kids at once, making a dinosaur screeching sound so he could hear them laugh. _I need this so much more than you do_. Behind the kids, his sister flashed a supportive, compassionate smile. _I don’t need your pity. I did what was best for me._

After the brief dinosaur battle was over (with promises for a longer showdown after lunch), the kids were finally compelled to take their shoes off and hang up the coats they’d thrown off in the entryway to get to their uncle faster. Kenny’s sister laid a hand on his shoulder, asking, “how are you feeling?” in that concerned, cut-the-bullshit-before-you-even-start-it way only siblings can demand of each other.

“I’m…” he honestly didn’t know. Nothing felt real anymore, everything felt slightly off, just barely wrong. He’d lost something huge, something that factored into everything he did, everything he was. Something that helped define his entire reality was gone, _so how do I even figure out how I am?_ Nothing he could say would be true: he wasn’t “fine," but he also wasn’t “devastated”; _I can’t allow myself to be when I’m the one who made it happen. I had the control._ He locked eyes with his sister, feeling more teary than he'd wanted to. _I'm just tired._ “I’m still figuring that out, I guess. I dunno, definitely tired, but that’s nothing new. How do I _look_? Kingly and charming, I’m guessing?”

“Like shit,” was her immediate answer. Having seen himself in the mirror earlier, Kenny had to agree. “You look like you have the worst hangover of your life.”

_I wish that was all._


	8. Letters: Achilles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny tries to write Kota an email after their meeting backstage post-G1 final. He's worried about a warning Prince Devitt gave him, about what the Bullet Club can turn you into. And he wants to say he's sorry. For so, so many things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter received substantial edits on March 31, 2018.**
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> This chapter takes place the night of the 2017 G1 Finals, where Kenny lost to Tetsuya Naito and then encountered Ibushi backstage. It was the first time they'd interacted in public since 2015.
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> There's a lot of flashbacks here, including references to: Ibushi moving to heavyweight in 2014, Kenny's heel turn in 2014, Invasion Attack 2015, Kenny winning the G1 in 2016, Kenny's "six star" series of matches with Kazuchika Okada in 2017, the buildup to the 2017 G1, and Finn Balor, formerly Prince Devitt, former leader of the Bullet Club (and current Demon King), who was formerly on a tag team (Apollo 55) with Ryusuke Taguchi (Apollo 55 had a great rivalry with the Golden Lovers, as well!). It also references a time Kenny was on a "wrestling election" TV show in early 2017, and Ibushi was a surprise guest, asked to comment on Kenny as a wrestler.
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> Chapter rating: G  
> Chapter word count: 7.1k (yikes!)  
> [Original version of this chapter](https://golden--lovers.tumblr.com/post/165818443541/chapter-6-achilles-hermes) (tumblr)

* * *

 

Hey, I’m sorry for writing this. Maybe you don’t want to hear from me right now. _Probably_ , you don’t. I know I haven’t emailed you in years. Maybe I won’t even send it. But you probably knew this was coming; I always have some fucking long-winded emotional response to important events. So predictable, eh? Hopefully it’s a little comforting to know that some things never change. Maybe you've already deleted this. You have every right to hate me.

I could go on a self-loathing spiral for entire volumes, but I’ll skip it. You’re welcome. I have so much to say. I don’t know if I completely ruined my chance to ever say it to you in person, but I have to say it. Why now? Seems like we both have that question for each other.

I can’t (and won’t try to) describe how incredible it felt to be near you again. Like I said, maybe I just fucked that up forever. I’m still not really processing that either. But, I realized some things, and I needed to tell you before I plunge completely into despair about what happened tonight. I have this brief moment of clarity now, when I can see how much courage it took to do what you did, and I can admit to myself and to you that you deserve the absolute most honest I can be before I bury myself in punishing workouts and self-loathing (and video games and not sleeping enough, duh). I mean, I’m not trying to make this all about me, but how could I ask anything of you now? I would ask you so many questions but maybe you’ve already deleted this, so I’m just gonna say my thing. At least there’s some value to that even if you never read this. Ugh, I know, predictable.

* * *

  _“Kenny! I saw you talking to uh… what’s her name? The valet? With the great tits?”_

_“Her name’s Yoko, Tama. You’ve talked to her like the past four times we’ve come here.” Kenny stared miserably at his Shirley Temple. He hated going to bars, especially for the reasons the rest of the Bullet Club liked going. But this was business, so he was Business Kenny. “She’s really hot, though.”_

_Tama stared through a squint at Kenny. “You’re fucking terrible at lying, dude.”_

_“Not when I care about the lie.” Kenny looked at his phone to check the time. He felt like if he stayed here an hour and a half, it would be a polite amount of time, and he could leave. They’d all be drunk anyway, by then. It had been 45 minutes._

_“Things aren’t okay… at home, are they?” Tama sounded strangely sincere for someone who’d just been talking about a woman like she was a piece of not-even-interesting meat._

_Kenny really, *really* did not want to get into it. “I mean, I could take a woman home if I wanted to, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ll go back over and talk to her; Chase looks like he’s being a creep anyway.”_

_“You know that’s not what I’m asking, man. You’re not gonna pick up a random girl at a bar, fuck. Dude. I’ve known you for years.” Tama put a hand on Kenny’s shoulder. “Listen. I’m saying this because I care: this whole thing… it’s making you weak. You can’t be fragile like this; it’s not who we are.” Tama gestured to the other members of the Bullet Club. “It’s not who you are, to be so weak about someone.”_

_Kenny wondered whether Tama knew anything about him at all. But he couldn’t let them think he was weak. The Bullet Club was the only place he really belonged. At least, it was necessary to believe that, because now there was nowhere else available to belong. Kenny couldn’t bear another second of that thought train, so he put on his best The Cleaner voice; anything to end this conversation. “You’re right. Good point. Fuck that.” He set his drink down and went to chat with the woman at the end of the bar._

* * *

 They told me over and over again that you made me weak. To them, “weak” was the worst possible insult, and they, especially AJ, would take any opportunity to tell me. Not angrily, not mean. They knew that would alienate me. No, it came under the guise of concern, of support. “He makes you weak,” one of them would say, and then they’d watch my face fall, then tell me they understood. They were there for me.

But… they weren’t wrong, exactly. You _did_ make me weak, at least I always felt like that. That’s why I believed them, that’s why I bought into it so easily. You were always ahead, you were always _better_. Everyone who meets you loves you, that’s still true, probably. Helpless, maybe, was a better word than weak. I don’t really want to think about whether there have been others, since me, but you probably know anyway that there’s a lot of ways to be in love. With you? I felt like somehow, this random kid from Manitoba was able to hitch a ride on a shooting star.  I know that sounds stupid and lofty, and, yes, I’m aware that you’re every bit as weird and awkward as I am. Yes, I'm _very_ aware that you hate it when I talk about you like you’re untouchable. But just because I stopped saying it to you doesn’t mean I ever stopped feeling it. I still feel that way sometimes. I look at all I’ve achieved and intellectually I know I’ve caught up to you, I’ve surpassed you. But I can’t make myself feel it. I’ll never shine like you do. No one does. I know, I know. You hate that shit. But you’re not here to stop me, and I'm not wrong.

You know how it was when we stopped tagging. I tried to be happy for you, I _was_ happy for you, but… ugh, you know. I never told you but I know you knew, because of course you did. I couldn’t stay in your light anymore. And all you wanted to do was love me and be there for me, and that fucking made it worse. All that, and now I had to… I guess… share you with the world. Now I was just another colleague, just someone in the story of your rise to the top. And, I know, you went out of your way to let me know I was still special. I could see that, and I knew it, I just… couldn’t make myself feel it.

Every fucking sweet thing you did, that time you learned what the fuck poutine was and then made some, even though it was the most disgusting thing in the world to you and you had the kitchen windows open for 3 days, in January, to get rid of the smell. It even came out pretty good. You did stuff like that all the time and I know I never seemed grateful the way you deserved, because I was too busy hating myself. Every goddamn one of those things felt like pity to me. I knew it wasn’t, intellectually. And then I’d feel bad about how I was not appreciating your kindness, and it was an awful cycle. When I hated myself, your goodness just felt like a burden to me. You knew that, too. You just didn’t want to think about it, or acknowledge it, probably because there was no fixing it.

Anyway, the Bullet Club. When I hated who I was, they made anger look cool. With them I felt strong, because with them, strength is measured by how few people you love and how little you care about crushing them to get what you want. We don’t need anyone, we have our brothers in the Bullet Club, and whatever women we can bring to our hotel rooms. That appealed to me. They dragged me out of your shadow and showed me I was great, that I was useful… and I guess I’m grateful for that. But it was obvious to everyone, of course, you can’t just stop loving someone, someone who shared your brain, and like... your fucking wardrobe with you for _years_ , who showed you you were not alone in the world. They knew that. They fucking knew you were my weakness. No. They _said_ you were my weakness, but you were more than that, and I think they knew that, too. I can’t tell you how many times I resolved to stop mentioning you, and then I’d be talking about some massive event in my life and… there you were.

Every fucking time you called when I was with them, they’d be like “speak English man, you fuckin’ weeb.” They knew damn well I was talking to you. After a while I only spoke Japanese to you and cab drivers and store clerks. I don’t think I ever told you that. I mean, you saw me start speaking English to the crowds. At the time it felt funny, the guys were endlessly amused by confused faces. I felt like I’d gotten too wrapped up in what the crowds thought… I felt like I cared too much. When I started speaking English to the crowd, it was like I was showing them I didn’t care, putting distance between me and them. I thought if I did it long enough and loudly enough, maybe they’d forget that I said Japan was my home. Maybe _I’d_ forget I said that. And the Bullet Club was the perfect way to do it, they saw Japanese fans as self-involved and concerned with appearances, material success. I didn’t want Japan to be home anymore.

I know it’s dumb, because who wouldn’t want the most prestigious title in the world, but in some ways when you challenged AJ, I felt like it was a challenge to me as well. I’ll still never know why you did it. I mean, the obvious, but you had to have thought of me a little, right? Maybe you didn’t. But either way it felt like you demanding to know where I stood, once and for all. Because we couldn’t even have a real goddamn conversation by then, I’d already moved out and we were basically just doing that totally healthy and smart thing where we’d get sad and fuck (as I am sure you recall). So it felt like you were twisting the knife the only way you could think to do it. And AJ fucking knew it, too.

* * *

_“You know what an opportunity this is, don’t you, Kenny?” AJ looked fierce, waiting for his music to start, psyching himself up._

_Kenny had been listening to the Golden Star music, but he caught himself, and managed to piece together what AJ had said. “Yeah, I guess. Thanks for asking me to second you.” Kenny was in no way grateful; he didn’t even want to be in this fucking hemisphere, knowing Kota might win that belt. Or that he might not. But you don’t say no to the leader of the Bullet Club._

_“No, this is an opportunity for *you*.” AJ’s drawl made him sound like he was saying something folksy instead of sinister. “Tonight, you can prove you’re not weak. That’s why I asked for you. You are the most valuable cornerman I could have wanted for this match.” Kenny had suspected that, but hadn’t thought AJ would just openly admit it. “You know what I’m saying?”_

_He did. AJ was asking him to place the Bullet Club over someone he’d loved more than anyone else on the planet. No big deal. “Yeah, I got it.”_

_“Good. I don’t wanna see those damn puppy dog eyes about him. You’re in the Bullet Club now. We do what it takes. We protect our own.”_

_Kenny hadn’t realized that the puppy dog eyes were a thing, but… of course they were. He felt pathetic and small, but tonight, he’d have a chance to prove that he wasn’t. He didn’t know what it was going to look like; he figured he’d know it when he saw it. But he would have given anything to be anywhere else._

* * *

I’ll never forget right before the match, he said I had a chance to prove I wasn’t weak. I didn’t want to second him, I just wanted to curl up in a little ball and forget about wrestling. He made me remember all the ways I felt so inferior to you, all the ways I couldn’t fucking stack up to you. And I just held those in my head, and when you were on the ground I didn’t help you, and I couldn’t watch your moonsaults, and I just fucking hated myself so much for how fucking worthless you made me feel. I know now that was all a creation of my insecurity, but at the time I blamed you. I let myself believe that you’d left me behind, that you didn’t care, that you dropped me when it was convenient for you. Just like all Japanese people, as the Bullet Club would say, only concerned with yourself, with appearances. Of course that made it easy to jump onto the apron, but then you looked at me, and god… I guess there’s nothing to lose now, in saying this, but you looked so beautiful, you were about to fucking _make your dream come true_ and I was in awe of you again, as I always was. And all the lies I was telling myself about you just died right there on the apron, and I _fucking loved you so much_. I know this must feel like shit to hear, and you have every right to be pissed at me for saying it. But it’s true, and fuck, I know it’s selfish but for my own goddamn sanity, I have to tell you the whole truth.

I still can’t watch that match but I’m sure I had the puppy dog eyes, as AJ called it, and I froze. In my mind, I could hear them calling me weak again, a failure, again. But you know what happened. It turned out to be enough, AJ felt I’d proven myself, and I had to stand there and watch you laying on the canvas and sobbing, while I told myself you always cried a little when you lost. I’m not asking you to feel bad for me, I’m just telling you how I felt. But, hey! I wasn’t weak anymore. I was a true, strong Bullet Club soldier, a mercenary. The Cleaner. Weakness gone. I basically ran out of there, knowing you’d go out for as many drinks as you could stand and support from our friends, who now hated me. I remember just sitting outside by the loading docks crying, and it started raining, and I had an umbrella, but I didn’t even use it, it just felt right that it should be raining. So dramatic.

I guess you must have known I did this, because I left the key on the counter, but I went to your place and I got the last of my stuff, like even my fucking toothbrush. I don’t know why. At the time I probably thought it would prove even more that I was _really_ gone this time, but I think on some level I knew it was the only way to be somewhere that felt like home, one last time. I’m sure you remember how shitty my new place was; what with the mystery stains and such. It was always fucked up to come back to what used to be our place, but it was always worth it, too. Anyway, I thought about taking something of yours, like a shirt or something. I didn’t take anything, but I wrote something on a little piece of tape, and stuck it to the underside of your side of the bed. “Ad astra.” It’s Latin, for “to the stars.” I guess it was my way of making sure some bit of me would always be there, but you wouldn’t have to know about it. It’s probably still there, or maybe you saw it and didn’t know what it was and got rid of it.

That was the last sign of weakness that Kenny Omega ever showed. I didn’t even cry when I locked the door behind me, having left the key on the other side, for good. You know what happened from there. It felt so fucking good to beat the shit out of AJ, to make the rest of the Bullet Club fear me. That certainly isn’t weak. When I stomped the shit out of him, I pictured how he sneered about my puppy dog eyes, like _he’d_ never loved anyone before. Of course, though, anytime someone suggested that you had anything to do with the pleasure I took in crushing AJ, I’d just hit them. They stopped saying that shit really quick.

I knew I was awesome. First gaijin to win the G1? Easy. _Easy._ Six star match? Yeah no problem. I just kept fucking winning and getting stronger and faster, and _better_. It was like a fucking drug, the love from fans and critics, and if I’m being honest with myself, the knowledge that I kept getting closer to being better than you. I know, I know.  I probably knew on some level how self-centered (not to mention just inaccurate) this was, but I'd convinced myself if I was good enough, you'd come back to challenge me. But of course, you didn't, so every so often, you know, I’d get in my feelings and talk about you vaguely on the internet. (I’m sure you know this, because I know Michael translated some of it for “my Japanese fans”, i.e. you. There’s really no point now in trying to save face, or for that matter pretending it wasn't glaringly obvious.) I tried not to watch your matches, but sometimes I did, just to confirm I was still better than you. I was, at least I had the gold and the accolades to show it. I knew damn well you never cared about that shit, and if you had, you’d have been the one to get the first six star match. Or maybe _we_ would have; I love Okada as an opponent, but he doesn’t compare to all the shit we used to talk about doing someday. You could easily have been the best in the world. But you didn’t do it, did you. Thus, I’m better. I even did your moves, while I won, to prove it.

This one time I met Devitt for dinner, when he was here in town. We were never that close, but you know, one Bullet Club leader to another. It wasn’t too long after Dominion, after another six-star match, and I was _not_ fucking weak. Relentlessly improving, even though my body was paying the price for it. But even the pain felt… cleansing, I guess.

* * *

_“You look like shit, dude.”_

_Kenny nearly just punched him and left, but it was a pretty nice restaurant, so he bit his tongue and glared at Prince Devitt. “Good to see you too.”_

_Devitt seemed unswayed by Kenny’s iciness. “I know that look. The Bullet Club'll do that to you, mate.”_

_“Oh you think you’re such hot shit, being in the US, being a star.” Kenny scoffed. “The Bullet Club is my family, and I actually feel great. So, thanks. For your concern.”_

_Devitt spoke deliberately, slowly. “They did it to me too, they wore me down, took every fucking last piece of soul I had until I was just a machine. And then they fucking left me. Your pals.”_

_Kenny was livid. “Is it not enough to insult me, Devitt? You have to insult my friends, too? Matt and Nick are my brothers.” Kenny got up to leave, and was proud of himself for resisting the urge to smack that smug fuck right in the face. He clapped a hand onto Devitt’s shoulder in a decidedly unfriendly manner._

_As Kenny started to walk away, Prince Devitt said, calmly, “they told me I was weak.”_

_Kenny paused. He couldn’t exactly say why, but he sat back down in the booth across from Devitt._

_“Lemme ask you something, Kenny. Are you having fun? Wrestling, I mean.”_

_Kenny laughed for a long time. “Uh, yeah, being the best in the world, making an assload of money, having women line up for me, and kicking the shit out of people regularly is pretty damn fun.” He kept chuckling to himself._

_Devitt clenched his jaw. “I thought that, too.” Then he looked down and he said, “Just like you, I forgot that wrestling is supposed to be fun. And I started telling myself that winning was fun, and so was getting stronger, and so was hurting people. But you know what was fucking fun, Kenny?”_

_Kenny rolled his eyes dramatically; he did not have time for this feely bullshit. He summoned his most condescending, patronizing tone of voice. “What, Devitt?”_

_Devitt met Kenny’s gaze. “Being a complete fool with someone I really loved. Creating little worlds inside our heads that were just for us. Going to work and actually wanting to be there. Knowing there was someone who always had my back, always pushed me to improve, supported me. Loving being in the ring so much, and loving being there with my best friend, the man I loved. Having a person in my life who made me feel like I wasn’t alone or fucking weird, having him be there when I woke up…” Devitt paused. “Fun is the opposite of being forced to choose between love and abject loyalty.” He stared glassy-eyed at a space above and behind Kenny. He swallowed hard. “But,” his voice cracked a little, and he paused briefly, then continued, “I'm sure it’s been *nothing* like that for you.” Devitt flared his nostrils a little and glared at Kenny, not afraid to show the full extent of whatever it was he felt._

_Kenny was silent. And angry. But he couldn’t bring a cohesive thought to his mind, let alone words. He looked at his hands._

_“I remember, before Bullet Club, when I was with Ryu, er… Taguchi-san… wrestling was so exhilarating that it didn’t even hurt. Are you in pain, Kenny?”_

_Kenny reflected on his knee, his hip, his neck, his tailbone, all in screaming agony. “No, I’m okay.”_

_Devitt sucked on his teeth. “Uh huh.” He sat back from the table._

_The silence hung sickly between them for a long time. Kenny thought of many cleverly cutting things to say, but couldn’t bring himself to speak for some reason._

_Finally, Devitt sighed, and said, “when was the last time you talked to him?”_

_Kenny angrily waved his hand, as though batting away the stupid fucking question. “I don’t think I know who you’re talking about. AJ? Are you talking about AJ?” Kenny’s voice faltered a little, probably just from how tired he was. “Fuck. Why do you even care, man?”_

_Devitt threw his hands up, letting his napkin fall onto the table. “Okay, Kenny. You can run yourself into the ground. And you will, there’ll be nothing left of you, I can damn well promise you that. You can get six, seven, twelve stars in every match. But it’ll never be enough to fill that void in your chest. You’ve seen who—what—I became.”_

_Kenny was silent again. He had seen the Demon King more than once, but he’d never made the connection between…_

_“It’s not fucking fun, Kenny. Yes, I get to hurt people. I get more power than I could have ever imagined. But it is the furthest fucking thing from fun. That’s where replacing joy with power will get you. That’s what happens when you confuse love with weakness. When you let the Bullet Club tell you how to think. That’s where you’re headed, I guarantee it.” Now Devitt was the one who got up from the table. “I guess some mistakes you just have to make yourself, no matter how emphatically someone warns you, no matter how much they tell you it’s going to hurt. Just hoped I’d get to you before it was… well, irreversible.” He put down some cash for his part of the bill. “Good night, Kenny.” He left without a backward glance. Kenny chuckled to himself at the dramatics of it all._

* * *

He asked me when the last time I talked to you was. He was like, trying to warn me, I think. About the Bullet Club, about losing myself. I just remember thinking that he was weak, that that was why they kicked him to the curb, because he couldn’t cut it anymore. That’s what Matt and Nick said, they told me he hadn’t been willing to do what it takes, that same vague “what it takes” that AJ mentioned to me before the match with you. And in the Bullet Club, not doing “what it takes”, really _whatever_ it takes… Well, you know where I’m going with this, I’m sure. Surprise! It makes you weak.

Shit got _bad_ , babe. And like I said, I don’t expect or even really need you to feel bad for me, at this point I know this is what I signed up for. I don’t know how much you saw of this, in fact I kinda hope you weren’t paying attention to it, but it was like after that conversation with Devitt, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore about the toll all of this was taking on me. Like, all the anger, all the hate. You know me. You’ve always known that wasn’t me. You even said it the last time I saw you, on that stupid TV show. But you also know better than anyone how much I wanted, needed that angry, ruthless person to be me… what I did to try to excise all the good parts of me (the golden parts). Without that identity, I was scared I’d be nothing. But I kept being that person the Bullet Club needed me to be, even if I was starting to doubt everything about that person. Even though I knew on some level that person was eating me alive. Possibly even making me less human, like Devitt said. Again, not looking for your sympathy. Just trying to explain.

I’ve spent the last 3 or so years trying desperately to pretend that you didn’t affect me anymore. You’re probably laughing, because, yeah. I was bad at it. And when you were announced for the G1, that’s when it all went off the fucking rails. I couldn’t hold it together anymore, I just started lashing out and doing whatever horrible thing I could think to do, because it didn’t come naturally to me anymore. Whatever held me together was just fraying like crazy, and the whole Bullet Club could see it. Matt and Nick were nice about it and tried to support me, but Cody and Tama saw opportunity. And why wouldn’t they? That’s the Bullet Club, after all, right? Loyalty above all, not to any person but to the Club itself. And ruthless power-seeking. When I won the US Title, they were all there for me, but it felt really false. And all I remember thinking was "what's next?" I couldn't even take a fucking day to feel satisfied about winning the belt. Remember when we won the tag belts the first time? Suffice it to say, what little celebrating I did was _nothing_ like that.

So not only was I falling apart, the Bullet Club was too. You know I’ve been trying to get you to come back; when all the communication broke down and we had nothing, there was still wrestling. I noticed the one wing on your ring gear, the way you did some of our old moves. I’m sure you noticed the tributes I did to you, at least, if you didn’t… well, you know how I am when I get an idea for something I think is going to be really cool and dramatic. Heh. But then with all the Bullet Club drama… I guess I wasn’t really aware of it, but that was when I switched from subtly and touchingly symbolic to HEY PLEASE COME BACK I NEED YOU. I didn’t even realize how desperate I sounded, how much I talked about you. I thought I was taunting you, but now I know I was _begging._ It doesn’t matter. I just want to tell you that I figured it out eventually. You were already back, as far as the company was concerned, but you know what I mean.

You saw what happened. And you didn’t say anything. And I was so fucking mad, like, _what’s it going to take_? But I know, I know. That’s not your style, you’re a man of few words, most of the time. I feel like maybe once or twice we remarked that I'm the opposite. Heh. Not to mention… I fucked you over big time. Why in the world would you give a fuck about me? Plus, I mean, ugh. Babe. I’m sorry it took me so long to get this, but I do in fact know that your reasons for coming back could have had nothing to do with me. I know I didn’t act like it. Fuck. Anyway.

* * *

_Matt and Nick were yelling, but Kenny was so exhausted and overwhelmed and… he couldn’t describe what else. He wasn’t even hearing what they were saying, because his brain was trying to process one thing, and it wasn’t his loss to Naito. He walked in a daze, as if he were on rails. “Why… why are you here?”_

_“Because I care about you?” Kota reached for Kenny’s wrist, and Kenny almost made himself sick with how eagerly he leaned toward Kota. Kota put his hands on Kenny’s shoulders, and Kenny instinctively, automatically melted into his touch. He couldn’t believe this was happening, and he couldn’t believe how normal it felt. There were cameras and lots of people, but none of that mattered._

_"Did you only just start caring about me again? Where were you? Where have you been?” Kota’s hand slid down onto Kenny’s chest, and Kenny felt like electricity tore through him, disorientingly strange and soul-deep familiar; life-sustaining. Like coming home. He lowered his head toward Kota’s shoulder, but stopped himself._

_“Kenny. You know why I haven’t been here. It’s a much bigger conversation than we can have right now, you know that.” Kenny did know that, but whether he’d concede the point was a different story. “I have a lot to tell you.” Kenny’s heart fell into his stomach, because what did that mean? Was Kota here to cut ties once and for all? Is that why he just entered the G1 like an asshole, just came in and then fucking lost? “Hey. We’ll talk about it, okay?” Kota by now knew all the signs of Kenny fearing the worst. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?” He handed Kenny a towel. A Golden Star towel, of course._

_Kenny had no energy left, no mind, no sense of reality. He was definitely not okay. Exhaustion and shock wiped all the spite and pretense and anger away, and he was left with just the truth, the core of who he was when nothing else was left to him. He clutched Kota’s wrist, pulling him closer. “I missed you so much.” It felt like a deathbed confession._

_Kota found Kenny’s gaze and stared; eyes brilliant and sincere, as always, as forever. “I missed you, too. And. I’m here, now.”_

_It was all Kenny had wanted to hear, he’d dreamed of it, he’d feared it, he’d ached for it._ _And yet, now that it was happening, Kenny felt that same old horrible, putrid feeling. Kota was always so fucking *good*, of fucking course he was here, he came back and he was compassionate and caring and loving, and Kenny deserved exactly none of it. Just like always. The worst part was,_ _Kota couldn’t be dishonest with Kenny if he tried._ _Kenny knew this, he knew Kota was really here, really ready to untangle all the horrible things that had kept them apart for the past three years. And for a few moments, he allowed himself to believe that, that Kota was here for him, that he was worthy of that. He felt like he could go back out and fight Naito all over again, and win this time._

 _But then it was gone, and it just felt like Kota was throwing it in his face. Kenny knew he wasn't, but it felt like that. Always the better person. Always the kindest and bravest._ _Kenny couldn’t even bring himself to look at him, to look into the eyes of the only person in the world who’d ever understood him._ _On a night he'd already been humiliated by Naito (and it should have been Kota, anyway), he had nothing left. The Cleaner had been crumbling around him for weeks now, and the match had made it worse. But Kenny felt then how much he needed The Cleaner. It was all he had, his armor, and Kota had always known that a scared and sad coward was underneath it. Kenny put a hand on Kota’s shoulder, and fought every impulse to keep it there, to hold him and cry together until everyone watching got bored and left. That could not happen; Kenny could see the forgiveness in Kota’s demeanor, but all he could feel was the unbearable weight of how much he hated himself. He pushed Kota’s shoulder away from him, truly the last thing he ever wanted to do, and threw the towel down behind him. He stumbled away, and couldn’t look back._

_Matt and Nick were there, immediately, on either side of him, like always. They brought him home, made him some ramen, and slept on the living room couches after putting him to bed with his laptop so he could watch some movies. They made efforts to say aloud that they stayed because they were worried about how he’d taken the loss to Naito. They said they knew he didn’t need them there, but it was for their sake, to ease their minds. They knew and he knew how untrue all of that was, but he loved them so much for saying it._

* * *

One more time, I have to say that I don’t expect you to feel bad for me. I know you’re not an idiot, but for my own sanity I need to say it. But like, tonight, when I saw you… that was it. There was nothing to hold together anymore, I just fell apart. Because I can’t bullshit you. You’ve seen me so clearly, since the fucking day we met you understood me better than anyone else could. You know who I am, and I’d been putting everything I had into being The Cleaner, Match of the Year Factory, Joyless Killing Machine, Leader of the Bullet Club. Because I didn’t know what else to be. But not like how it was when I was so dejected about living in your shadow. That was because I didn’t really know who I was, and your personality was too strong, too influential on me. Not your fault. That’s just who you are. No, this time, I didn’t know what else to be, because I threw everything into the Bullet Club, into being ruthless. I spent all my energy trying to be that person, I fucking betrayed the love of my life for it, because I was that desperate to forget the pain of you leaving me behind. But it _never_ made me feel less alone. Devitt was right. And it took all of that that to show me that I actually _do_ know who I am. And that person is a hell of a lot closer to the person you know than the person the Bullet Club knows. (Are you shocked? No, you're not.) I finally, _finally_ admitted that to myself. And then I had to continue being The Cleaner.

And then, there you were. At both the best and the worst time you could have possibly shown up. And it was so fucking easy to just be us again, after everything, after all the years apart, after all the hurt. I can’t be that version of myself _and_ The Cleaner. And I was forced to admit that I don’t need The Cleaner anymore, because after all that, you know what really made me weak? As cliché as it sounds, trying to be someone I wasn’t. The desire for power and retribution and revenge. All the things the Bullet Club wanted me to be. That was what weakened me until I broke. It was never you, babe. I _was_ weak, but it had nothing to do with you, it was just painfully fucking clear when I looked at myself next to you.

So all the things I felt, all the good things, all the things that were, as it turns out, _me_ … I just let them convince me, because I needed to believe, that if those things made me weak, then the opposite of those things _must_ be what it was to be strong. But that was bullshit. You put your hands on my shoulders and, yeah, I thought I was going to fall over, but… I felt strong. If I’d been a more confident and less self-loathing person all those years ago, you would have made me strong then, too. And I fucking realized that part of the reason you were so great (aside from the fact that I ignored all your faults because I was a fucking self-hating mess, whoops) was that _I_ made _you_ strong. Imagine three-years-ago Kenny admitting _that_.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I walked away from you because right now, I don’t have a choice: I have to be The Cleaner. That is the world I created for myself. People count on me, and my career depends on it. But at the risk of sounding dramatic (me? dramatic? sounds inaccurate.), I think maybe my sanity depends on finding some way not to be The Cleaner. It’s killing me. Seeing you made that crystal clear. I mean, how the fuck could I look at you? The Cleaner was me trying to forget that I’d ever felt Japan was home, when what I really wanted was to forget _you_. You, the person who brought me to Japan. You brought me home, you _made_ it home. You _were_ my home. How could I ever deserve to stand next to you, let alone deserve your concern?

I mean, none of that is to justify treating you like that. I was originally just going to send you a text that said “I’m sorry” but apparently that didn’t feel sufficiently dramatic and intense for me. Ugh. Anyway, I don’t have any answers or any ideas about where, if anywhere, to go from here. I guess I’ve said my thing, and if you’ve read this wall of text, then I suppose it’s your move. Your move could be nothing. I’d be sad (understatement), but wouldn’t blame you. You have absolutely no reason to believe me when I say I’ve learned some shit about how to be an adult. But I have. I know it means nothing for me to just _say_ that, especially to you. So this is my first effort at showing you. I was already less than you deserved once. If there’s ever going to be anything at all, even friendship, between us, I won’t be less than you deserve again. Even more than disappointing you, I can’t let myself down, because… I guess… the person I deserve to be known as… is a good person? I don’t know, I’m kinda new to feeling like I deserve good things. I don’t know if I can keep it up. I'll try, okay?

You know what Devitt said? He said he became the demon because the Bullet Club broke him, and made him choose between love and loyalty. So dramatic, but honestly? Now I can see how that could happen. So maybe it’s too late for the Golden Lovers to ever do anything but constantly take very gay-sounding shots at each other on the internet and in interviews. We’ve been doing pretty well with that; kudos on your contributions. But even if you hate me, even if you won’t even be petty at me on the internet anymore, maybe you can take some tiny bit of satisfaction in knowing that, once again, you saved me. Actually, this time? You gave me the (beautiful and deadly, nobody does it better, fucking damn you) kick in the face I needed to save myself. I won’t become what he’s become.

Maybe that’s the best I can hope for, not becoming a demon. But I still have hope that inside me somewhere is the opposite of that. Even if I only ever have one wing. We’ve both managed pretty well on one wing, eh? But remember when you and me together had a full set of wings? Even if we never see each other again, I will know that that was the thing that made me the strongest. Love’s never a weakness.

* * *

* * *

Kenny couldn’t think how to address or end it. Dear…. Ibutan? Kota? Ibushi-san? “Hey,”? And then… what, at the end… Thanks? Sincerely? All my love? Sorry again about how fucking long winded I am and also the shitty things I've done?

He read it over once, then twice, still teary both times. _So fucking dramatic, Kenny_. He hovered over the Send button, overriding his normal HOLY SHIT DO NOT SEND YOUR EX A WEEPY EMAIL AT 3AM instinct. It just kind of felt like this needed to happen now, or it never would. But he finally chickened out, or maybe thought better of it, he wasn’t sure. _Maybe I’ll send it in the morning. I’ll probably just wake up and hate every word I wrote, plus myself, plus him_.

He closed his laptop, and went to sleep.


	9. Letters: Hermes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kota tries to send Kenny a text after their meeting backstage post G1 final. There's really only one thing he wants to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter was added on March 31, 2018, but contains elements from previous versions of other chapters.**
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter, like the last one, takes place on the night of the G1 Finals, after Kenny and Kota met backstage. There's flashbacks here including references to the Golden Lovers' last match as a team in 2014, and Kenny's 2014 heel turn. It also references a meeting Ibushi talked about in an interview, where he met with Shinsuke Nakamura while both were in the US working for WWE. In that interview, he says Nakamura asked him what he really wanted out of wrestling, and implies that it helped him make the decision not to sign with the WWE.
> 
> Chapter rating: G  
> Chapter word count: 1.8k  
> This chapter originally began as the very end of [this chapter](https://golden--lovers.tumblr.com/post/165818443541/chapter-6-achilles-hermes). (tumblr)

* * *

 

Kota couldn’t sleep, so he sat down with his computer, ready to spill it all out, ready to sit there and type and cry until he’d said all he needed to say. He even got some tissues and a glass of water. There was so much… there were just too many questions and so many conflicting emotions. He’d been ready to talk, but not really ready to _write_. He just sat there, staring at the cursor blinking gently, trying to figure out how to begin. After what felt like 15 minutes but was probably only two, he sighed and shut his computer, resolving to try sleeping again. Maybe there’d never be a way for him to say it all. Maybe it didn’t really matter anymore.

He slumped back into bed, soul-deep weary of the argument he’d been having with himself for the past three years. _Was I wrong? I know him; that’s not who he is at all. It was obvious when we touched, he’s still in there. I think. Maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see? Maybe I’ve been wrong this whole time._

* * *

_They’d won; Kota wouldn’t have had it any other way, their last match as Golden Lovers. To say things had been strained between them would be a ridiculous understatement, and Kota couldn’t help but blame himself. Kenny had supported him going up to heavyweight, but Kota could feel a chasm growing between them because of it. Sometimes he felt like he’d do anything to get it all back. They were both too good, now, to be a tag team forever, but Kota wouldn’t let himself think that they never would be again. He couldn’t._

_It was Kenny’s last match in DDT, and he was uncharacteristically quiet, even as the streamers fell around him. Things had been so hard, but as Kota watched him sit there on the canvas looking miserable, all he wanted was to be a comfort to the person he still loved most in the world. He couldn’t help himself from going to be close to Kenny; he bent down and hugged Kenny’s head to his, lacing his fingers in Kenny’s curls, so his mouth was right next to Kenny’s ear._

_“Hey. How are you?”_

_“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Kenny sounded lost and heartbroken, distant, like he was behind a wall of glass, and Kota could see him but not reach him._

_“Kenny. Remember how this felt, okay? This, you and me, is the truest thing I’ve ever known. We’ll find our way back here someday, I promise you. I don’t know how, but we have to.”_

_Kenny just made a pained scoffing sound. “You’re the one… I can’t… Ibutan. Ibushi, I came here—Japan—to be with you…”_

_Kota knew separating was the right choice for both of them, but at the same time, would have been grateful if the earth had swallowed him up then and there._

_“Ugh, I’m sorry Kota. I shouldn’t have said that.”_

_Holding onto Kenny in the ring like this, being so close but sensing an aching distance between them, felt too much like Budokan, which perhaps had been the beginning of the end. But all he could think was the same singular thought he’d had in his mind that night, too. The truest thing. The only thing. “I love you. Always will.”_

_Kenny grabbed Kota’s wrists, and shook his head in self-disgust. “I don’t see why you would. You don’t need me.”_

_He did, but Kota knew there was nothing he could say to make Kenny believe it, so he just squeezed Kenny tighter. “Kenny. You know it’s true. You know me, and I know you. Whatever happens, that will never go away.”_

_Kenny’s body went slack and he slumped dejectedly against Kota’s hands, but clung fiercely to Kota’s wrists. “A blessing and a curse, Buu-san.” He wasn’t joking._

_\----------_

_Twelve days later, Kenny joined the Bullet Club. Kota was shocked; that wasn’t the Kenny Omega he knew. Kenny came out sneering, slick in all black, seemingly reveling in the Bullet Club’s sinister power. At first, Kota thought Kenny was truly lost, but he quickly realized no part of Kenny’s newfound bravado actually felt real. That was the moment the internal battle he’d fight for the next several years began: he knew Kenny too well, knew in his bones that this smirking, angry (hurting, desperate) villain was not who Kenny was or ever would be. But he was too terrified to believe it, because of how badly he wanted—needed—to believe it._

_Kota had never known Kenny to lie, not to him, to the fans, or anyone. Now he was lying to himself most of all, and where everyone else saw a new and improved Kenny Omega, Kota only saw a lie so huge it would require Kenny to grind himself to dust in order to keep telling it. All Kota could do was fight back tears as he watched, knowing that this was Kenny’s response to losing him, that there was nothing he could do to change Kenny’s mind._ _This dark and dangerous man was an attempt to replace hurt with viciousness, to erase the real Kenny, whom Kota had promised to love, always. No, forget ‘promise.’ He couldn’t stop loving Kenny even if he wanted to, and now his mind reeled at the idea that maybe soon, he’d want to._

_The day Kenny joined the Bullet Club was the day Kota learned that there’s something worse than losing the person you love most in the world: having to watch powerlessly as he's eaten alive by a lie, as he descends into darkness, alone._

* * *

He looked at his phone sitting on the nightstand, picked it up, and went through his contacts. Kenny was still “Kenny-tan”; he could never bring himself to erase the -tan. Not that it had ever really been untrue in his heart, if he was being honest.

* * *

_“No, listen to me: **what do you want**?” Nakamura repeated the question for a third time, piercing gaze locked on Kota’s eyes._

_Kota clenched his teeth in frustration. “I don’t understand! I already told you: I want to be famous. I want to show the world what puroresu looks like. I want to… be a huge star.”_

_Shinsuke nodded, and looked out at the crystal blue water crashing onto the beach across the street. He sighed, and sat back in his chair, smirk on his face, sparkle in his eye. “Ibushi, did you know that our match at Wrestle Kingdom 9 is my favorite match I’ve ever fought?”_

_Kota almost physically put a hand to his chest: Nakamura was a wrestling god, and as accomplished as Kota was, he always felt like an annoying green kid around Shinsuke. He’d never even dreamed of putting himself on the same level as someone like Nakamura, and now Kota's brain was struggling to accept the idea that Shinsuke himself had put him on that level. “Oh, come on Nakamura-san, that’s not…” he regained his manners. “I’m honored, thank you so much.”_

_Shinsuke looked at him like he wasn’t getting it. “You made me fall in love with your wrestling, you dazzled me. I was gushing about you in the post match interview, remember? And when they asked me who I knew in Japan who’d amaze American wrestling fans, you were the first person I thought of.”_

_Kota wasn’t sure he understood. “Thank you again, Nakamura-san.” He was grateful for the opportunity, and Florida wasn’t so bad, once he got used to it. “You’ve been so kind.”_

_Shinsuke clapped his hands, nose crinkling in a delighted laugh. “Ha! Ibushi, do you think I’m saying that to be kind?” He was still chuckling, and Kota thought, not for the first time, that maybe the King of Strong Style really did have a screw loose from taking all those punches. “You’re a terrible liar, Ibushi. Your wrestling is heavenly! It’s art. Do you think I believe you for one second when you say you wrestle like that so you can be famous? You’re telling me that the unbelievably talented Golden Star would be happy to deal with idiots yelling at you to speak English, wear yourself out traveling three hundred days a year so you can make a bunch of money and have an action figure made of you?”_

_Kota could immediately feel tears threatening, and he didn’t even completely know why. Nakamura had caught him so off guard he didn’t trust himself to speak. He set his jaw, and looked down at his hands, trying to focus on the sounds of the waves on the shore._

_“Kota.” Nakamura was speaking startlingly intimately. “Why are you here, really?” Kota felt exposed, like Nakamura already knew the answer, even though Kota hadn’t even fully admitted it to himself. He shifted uneasily in his chair._

_To forget. That’s why Kota Ibushi had traveled halfway around the world to a strange country where nothing made sense and he was no different from any other member of an enormous roster; determined to make wrestling his job, his business. Nothing more. Kota held back tears, looked up at Nakamura, and nodded wordlessly._

_“Could you be happy here?”_

_Kota closed his eyes as if that would delay the arrival of the answer into his mind. No. He’d be miserable. Because nothing about this life was healthy for him. And more than that, because he’d be miserable no matter where he was in the world. “I’m so tired of hurting. I wish I could erase my brain.”_

_Shinsuke nodded sadly. “No you don’t.”He reached across the table and squeezed Kota’s hand, his face displaying concern and full understanding of what Kota wasn’t saying._

_Kota breathed in slowly, and looked out at the waves as he spoke, trying not to think of his home on the other side of this ocean. “I… want… I came here so I could… to become… someone else.”_

_Nakamura breathed a hint of a sad little laugh. “And how is that working out for **him**?” _

* * *

He opened a new text message:

* * *

* * *

Dear Kenny-tan,

Bullshit.

* * *

* * *

He _wasn’t_ wrong. He knew it bone-deep. But he was still scared of it, and there was just _so much_ to say. And yet. That one word pretty much summed it up.

He sighed and shut off the screen of his phone, laughing sadly to himself. _Couldn't even send one word. The winner, and still my biggest weakness, Kenny Fucking Omega._

Maybe in the morning he’d feel stronger.


	10. New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kota saved Kenny from a Bullet Club beatdown, and they left the ring together. Later, they showed up, together, to talk to the Young Bucks. Here's what happened in between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter received an overhaul on March 31, 2018, and is a lot different in tone.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter can mostly stand alone, although you probably should have seen the Golden Lovers reunion at New Beginning in Sapporo. But, it’ll be better if you’ve read chapter 3, bc of the ~parallels. (ty Golden Lovers for reading my fics and making your reunion a lovely parallel to my version of your getting together.) I also corrected from the original; in the "Golden Reunion" documentary, Kota said he had been the one to propose being a team again; I had it as Kenny. So I fixed it!
> 
> Chapter rating: G  
> Chapter word count: 4.8k  
> [Original version of this chapter](https://golden--lovers.tumblr.com/post/170784674396/chapter-8-new-beginning) (tumblr)

Kota’s not drunk, but that’s what this feels like: he doesn't remember exactly how he got into this cab, and he’s trying desperately to fish a string of coherent thoughts out of a messy puddle of randomly-firing emotions. _He’s next to me_. Kenny’s so exhausted he’s got his head back and his eyes closed, the city lights and shadows sliding over his face as the cab moves through the streets. Kota is straining to put the events of the last dizzying half hour in order, but all his brain can do in reply is remind him where he is. _Where we are._

He doesn’t know what he was thinking, exactly, but it must have been the same thing he’d been thinking for months, since he’d seen Kenny backstage after the G1: _stop lying_. He’d long suspected that Kenny was lying to everyone: to Kota, to his friends, to his fans, to the press, and to himself most of all. Kenny always left a trail of breadcrumbs; on Twitter, in his matches, in interviews; telling Cody to stay away, the way he initially melted into Kota’s arms after the G1 final. Kenny seemed to make sure there was always a reason to suspect that the sweet, happy Kenny Kota once knew was still there somewhere. _The truest thing I’ve ever known_. But he’d been so hurtful, and he'd never had the guts to do more than leave hints, so Kota tried to push it from his mind, knowing that was fertile ground for his dumb soft heart to be crushed. Again.

But then Kenny got between Kota and a chair to the head courtesy of the Bullet Club. That was different, that was something real. Not a breadcrumb, a declaration: once he’d been willing to sacrifice Kota for the Bullet Club, now he was willing to risk losing the Bullet Club for Kota. It wasn’t enough to fix things, not nearly, but now Kota knew his suspicion was right, and if they were ever going to get past… everything, _he’d_ have to be the one to make it happen. He didn’t know what that would mean, but tonight when he’d sensed the opportunity, there was no hesitation, he was running to the ring before he even completely knew why.

And Kenny, still lying, just kept shaking his head, when Kota offered a hand, when Kota offered help. _Stop lying. I know you’re still there_. He’d thought the act of chasing away the whole Bullet Club would be enough to push Kenny out of his self-loathing martyrdom, but then Kenny started leaving the ring, and Kota saw just how afraid Kenny was. Pathetic, but after all Kenny’s done, it’s no wonder it’d be hard to believe Kota could still care about him.

He doesn’t remember exactly how it happened, only that one thought: _you’re lying, stop lying_ , propelling him forward, forcing Kenny to face him, to touch him. Then the crowd was on their feet, there was confetti for some reason but Kota really was only aware that he was home. _Skin on skin. In the ring. With him_. Kenny squeezed him like clinging to a life raft, shivering, head safely above water at last.

Kota had pushed the press and even the medical staff away, trying to find somewhere quiet to help Kenny sit down. He'd felt like he should be worried, that something was dangerous— _what was it?_ —but every bit of his mind was desperately leaning, like plants contorting themselves to sip the sunlight, in the direction of _we are together now_. The only thing he'd wanted to do was continue holding Kenny, forever maybe, and even as he helped Kenny sit down, they didn’t let go, clutching wrists and forearms and—he’d suddenly remembered Kenny was hurt, was he okay? Kota had started to ask, but then Kenny’s hand was on Kota’s face, and all he could do was hold his breath, and wait for—

Marty Scurll had frantically found them then, running in with his arms full of their stuff. He threw sweatsuits at them, and instructed them to get dressed and follow him. Dazed, they’d just done exactly as he said—he had apparently called a cab, and after they’d gotten dressed he'd hastily ushered them through one of the loading docks instead of the normal exit. Only then had it dawned on Kota that they were in danger of Bullet Club retribution— _that’s what it was_ —only after the car door slammed, and he'd watched Marty run back into the building without a backward glance.

Now, in the cab, they're both too overwhelmed to speak, and Kota’s cursing himself, _should have known, too late_. “For life” is a coin with two sides; both a pledge and a threat. _Without Scurll_ , _what would have happened? Still jumping with no idea where I’ll land_. He suddenly feels like the cab can’t go fast enough. But even that dread is punctuated every few moments by tiny realizations, accompanied by a shiver in his chest: _in my arms. In the ring. Skin on skin_. It doesn't seem real, in some ways, but in others, it’s so familiar it aches. _The truest thing I've ever known. Skin on skin. Even when you were gone I dreamed of it_.

When the hotel room door closes, Kenny practically knocks Kota over with a fierce embrace; just a continuation of the one they’d had to cut short earlier, so the crowd could go home, so the cleaning crew could close down the place. So people could get on with their lives. But Kota’s mind is still there, in that moment where he finally worked up the courage to call bullshit on three years of pretending they didn’t want to be right here. _We’re finally here_. Kenny slides his arms under Kota’s sweatshirt to squeeze him tighter. _Skin on skin_. Kota tangles his hand in Kenny’s hair, like he always had, curls between his fingers. _I went to the other side of the world and couldn’t forget. The truest thing I've ever known_.

He remembers that he was worried earlier, _oh shit_. He pulls back. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Kenny looks around for a second, taking stock, as if he hadn’t been paying attention to his body at all. “Uh… yeah.” He almost sounds confused. “Yeah. My neck hurts; I took a Blade Runner and a Cross Rhodes, so… I guess that’s why… but…” he throws his arms back around Kota’s neck, buries his face in Kota’s shoulder, one hand lightly pulling Kota’s hair. He says, so softly Kota can barely hear it, “don’t let me go.”

 _If it had been up to me, I never would have_. Kota’s no stranger to neck injuries, though, and he’s worried, so he makes Kenny sit down on the bed. Kenny pulls him down, too, awkwardly facing each other, heads leaning on each other’s shoulders, knees to knees, hands clasped so tightly their fingers are turning white. Kota knows he should be mad, but he left all his _should_ s in the ring, falling at his feet like the confetti, the single bright purpose of being _done hurting_ foremost in his mind. Anger was never motivating for him like it is for some people, for him it’s always a burden; sludgy, exhausting, poisonous. He’s needed this relief, it’s so _clean_ , and so shockingly easy to just let it go. He leans into it like he’s leaning on Kenny now, scouring his mind for more heavy, useless anger he can shed, because yeah, he’s scared, but he doesn’t care about _should_ anymore. _We always did it our way_.

Kenny brings a hand to Kota’s face again, softly running his thumb over Kota’s cheek, like he wants to re-learn every curve of Kota’s face. He’s so close; Kota can feel them breathing heavily together, as they had so many times, in so many different contexts. Lips, faces, inches apart, Kota closes his eyes, it’s too much. _Skin on skin. We’re really here_.

“Why?” Kenny finally says, breaking the silence even though it’s almost a whisper. “You saved me.”

 _You know why_. “I’d imagine… the same reason you did it for me.”

Kenny pulls back, chuckling. “We both love watching Cody get mad, eh?”

Kota laughs a little too, grateful to hear one of Kenny’s terrible jokes again. He resolves not to tell Kenny that.

They’re silent for a moment, but then Kenny’s face darkens, and he starts shaking his head again, just like he had the night of the G1 Finals, just like he had tonight in the ring. _I never want to see that again_. He starts pulling his hands away from Kota, and Kota doesn’t quite know what makes him hold on, but he does. “ _Stop_. Tell me you haven’t spent three years desperate for a way to where we are right now.” _Because I have_.

Kenny looks up with a pained, defeated expression. “You know I have.” Then, more softly, “you _know_ I have.”

“Well… we're _here_. _I’m_ here.”

Kenny keeps shaking his head, and he squeezes Kota’s hands so tight it almost hurts, fidgeting as he sits, clenching his teeth. He’s choked up when he says “you know I don’t deserve—”

Kota wrests his hands away from Kenny, instead squeezing Kenny’s arms, probably harder than he means to. “No, you don’t. But we’re here whether you deserve it or not...” Kota knows the question he needs answered, the logical end to this conversation and beginning of the next one. The _really_ scary one. He can’t mask the shiver in his voice as he says, “…so _what are you going to do about it_?”

Kenny drops his head into his hands and just sits there like that for a while, and all Kota can do is wait. Finally Kenny sighs, and says, “okay. You’re right.” He looks away, then back at Kota, nodding. “Okay.” He takes a breath, and stares into space for a long time, like he’s trying to remember something long forgotten. Kota’s stomach knots tighter with every long second that passes. Then Kenny exhales like he’s getting ready to breathe before a dive, and says, “I… I’m... going to be a person who deserves this. Who deserves you.” The words sound like they’re new and unfamiliar to him, like he's been waiting to learn this answer as much as Kota has. He keeps staring ahead, then sets his jaw and nods. “I’m going to deserve it.”

Kota doesn’t know what he was expecting, doesn’t even know what he’d wanted to hear, but he’s terrified to realize that _that was it_. When Kenny looks up at him finally, Kota has no idea what his face is doing, let alone what to say. Kenny just says, “I have to think about this. About how to tell you,” and he squeezes Kota’s hand with both of his, bringing it to his lips and brushing a soft kiss over Kota’s knuckles as he gets up and heads for the bathroom. Kota shivers just from the light touch of Kenny’s lips on his hands, but before he can say anything, he hears Kenny turn the shower on. After a while, Kenny starts singing badly in the shower, and it's a painful stab in the heart, so viscerally familiar and mundane, the kind of thing Kota never thought about enough to miss. He’d missed Kenny, of course, but he’d missed him like aching, like a void, like something was _gone_ and he could barely breathe. He’d been too angry and too scared to miss him like crawling into bed, like a baking-warm kitchen after coming in from the cold, like something that made things _better_. Kenny had once made _everything_ better, whatever they did together. After so long, Kota finally lets himself remember _that_. _The truest thing I’ve ever known_. It feels frighteningly close to where he is now. _Where we are now_.

Kota needs a shower too, and he imagines himself 9 years ago learning that future-him was politely waiting for Kenny to be done before getting in the shower. He tries to bat those thoughts away, because he can barely deal with them being in the same _room_ right now, but for some reason, the shower of all things makes him remember that tonight, when Kenny tried to leave, Kota had physically pushed him, forcing Kenny to face him. _Oh_. He realizes it’s because of another time he pushed Kenny like that, that time into the shower with all his clothes on. Like tonight, that push was immediately followed by an embrace Kota had wished for more times than he could count. _“I get lonely without you, you know.”_ Just like now, Kota had been _sure_ there was something between them, but the consequences for being wrong were too high, and then Kenny took one risky step (then, just a kiss, much sweeter than defying the Bullet Club). Just like tonight, Kota had to practically force Kenny to stop desperately avoiding dealing with what they meant to each other. _“I told you you’re a terrible liar, Kenny.”_ And just like tonight, Kenny had taken it from there. _“I’ve imagined this for so long.”_ It was the first time... _Skin on skin_. Then and now, Kenny took a risk, then Kota pushed for action so Kenny would finally let himself have what they’d both wanted. _“Please don’t go anywhere, Kenny. At least not without me.” We were so young_.

Kenny gets out of the shower and looks surprisingly refreshed. Better than he’s looked lately. Kota smiles at that, but then occupies himself with looking anywhere else, while Kenny tries to make a towel look like a comfortable amount of clothing. They’re both laughing softly in lieu of a conversation about how weird this is; awkward but not at all unpleasant. Still, Kota heads for the shower as quickly as he can without running. But before he can get to the non-awkward safety of the bathroom, he hears Kenny say, “tell me what you need.”

Kota turns, and Kenny’s just standing there, still only wearing a towel, but looking like he can’t do anything, even get dressed, until they have this conversation. He can’t really look at Kota, he’s just looking to the side, shy and sweet and a little scared. A look Kota hasn’t seen for a long, long time. _Tell me what you need._ Kota heard the words, but he has no idea where to begin.

“I know nothing I say is going to convince you I’m for real, and rightly so. So I’m asking you to help me, once again. You gave me the push I needed, but I’ve been thinking about how to do this for so long.” He laughs a little. “You can’t be surprised by that.” _You’d be amazed what you can deny when you’re too scared to believe it. Or maybe you wouldn’t._ “I wrote you this really long rambling email I never sent…” He pauses, thinking. “Tell me how I can show you I’m with you.”

Kota feels like he should say he’ll think about it, or, hell, like he should just flat out say no. But, no more _should_ s. He never got much of anywhere trying to ignore his feelings; he knows that now. Still, even he’s surprised when he opens his mouth and ends up just blurting out the stupid thing he’s been thinking for the last few hours. “I want to be a team again.” _Jumping with no idea where I’ll land. Idiot._ He had tried to promise himself he wouldn’t say it for a while, until he was more sure of Kenny and his intentions. And yet. Just like the first time he suggested it all those years ago, he couldn’t hold in the desire to be close to Kenny, to be a team with him; be special to him. _As always, my greatest weakness._

Kenny can’t really look at Kota. He pauses for a long moment. _Oh no._ Kota feels that horrible drowning dread again, the one that’s been his constant companion for the past three years. _Maybe I was seeing what I wanted to see. Stupid._ Kenny looks at him finally, face confused and stunned, eyes shining with tears.

Kota desperately tries to fill the quiet space. “I mean, we both need to still be doing singles stuff, of course…” _Shut up shut up shut up._ Kenny’s still staring at him, breathless and fragile looking. _Well, might as well finish digging this hole for myself. “…_ but I want you in my corner, and I want to be in yours.”

Kenny sits down at the end of the bed, still not looking at Kota, face in his hands, staring straight ahead. Then suddenly he’s sobbing, shoulders quaking, elbows on knees.

Kota wants to run over to him and hold him as long as it takes, but he’s not sure that would be welcome, and he’s frozen with a queasy anxiety. “Oh Kenny, I’m so sorry, that was wrong, it’s too soon, I should never have—“

“No! No.” Kenny manages to say between sobs. “Please don’t take it back,” he chokes out in a tiny voice. He breathes very deliberately for a few moments, then looks at Kota, a look of helplessness in his eyes framed by tear stains. “Sorry. It’s okay if you didn’t mean it, it’s a very emotional time, I just—“

“I meant it.” Kota says it before he can really assess it, but he realizes, yes, he did mean it. It _is_ what he wants.

Kenny puts his face in his hands again, still crying so much it makes Kota teary too. “Give me a minute, okay?” Kota’s not sure what his face does, but it must be something dire looking, because Kenny forces a smile. “I’m just trying to think of how to say ‘yes’ as forcefully as I feel it.” He smirks a little, and Kota knows Kenny’s trying to get a smile out of him. It works. “I’m just stunned that you asked… Kota, Ibutan… I’ve wanted that since the moment our last match ended.” He can’t finish the sentence without tears, and Kota can see that Kenny’s hands are shaking as he speaks.

This time, Kota does let himself comfort Kenny. He crosses the room and sits down next to him on the bed, and Kenny’s too anxious for a hug, but he leans his whole weight against Kota, head on his shoulder, and takes Kota’s hand. _Skin on skin._ Kota leans his head on Kenny’s, and Kenny’s still sniffling.

“You said we’d find a way back… I’ve never forgotten you said that.”

“I’ve never forgotten either,” Kota says, squeezing Kenny’s hand. _That’s an understatement_.

“You may as well have asked me to marry you,” Kenny says, and then winces, like he’s said too much.

Kota tries to think of something cute to say to dissolve the awkward moment (and combat the rush he felt in his chest when Kenny said _you may as well have asked me to marry you; holy shit_ ), but he freezes. He feels like it’s eight years ago and his wit is washed away by the quiet earnestness of Kenny Omega. Instead he just snickers, and Kenny laughs too, and he grabs Kenny’s pinkie, like they used to when they were kids, like _maybe we can come back to that thought sometime. Ugh, stupid heart._ He starts to put his arm around Kenny, but… “Wait… do I smell? You’re clean, I don’t want to get you all smelly.”

Kenny again comes back into his body, like he hadn’t been paying attention. “Yeah, I guess. You know I’ve always liked it. I wasn’t really thinking about it anyway, this is all too much to process.”

Kota smiles weakly. It’s all too much to process for him too, so he just nods, gets up, and heads for the shower, where he mostly replays the events of the past few hours in his mind, beating himself up for putting all his cards on the table. But he can’t deny that he asked for exactly what he wants. It’s too frightening to think about their relationship, but the Golden Lovers was something undeniable. It was how they found their way to each other the first time. _Maybe we can find each other again._ And if Kota’s honest with himself, this is more than a sentimental knee-jerk attempt to be close to Kenny again, it’s a challenge. _Prove it._ As much as he wants Kenny’s words to mean something, they don’t, they can’t. If Kenny’s really back, he’s going to have some tough choices to make, and Kota wants to watch him make them. _I deserve that much._ He leaves the bathroom but Kenny’s standing between him and his stuff, still looking like he can’t move until he has says what he needs to.

“I have to tell Matt and Nick.”

Kota’s trying to act as natural as he can, being clad in only a hotel towel in front of someone who used to enjoy snatching post-shower towels. “Tell them what?”

Kenny’s silent for a couple seconds, and Kota looks up to see him failing at not-staring. Kenny laughs and looks away, embarrassed, and Kota’s still waiting to get to his clothes, so he can’t do much but stand there and smirk a little. He’s not exactly proud of it, but he shivers a little to know he still has that effect.

“Um. When it’s okay with you. I have to tell them that we’re a team. You and me, I mean.”

Kota slips past Kenny to grab his clothes, then heads to the bathroom to put them on, leaving the door open so he can say… well, nothing, he can’t think of a single thing to say.

Kenny continues, somewhat awkwardly from the other room, “I mean, the three of us are a team, but you and me… God, you’re right, like always. Nothing’s more important than that team. Nothing ever should have been. And I have to tell them that.”

Kota’s still wordless. But now he’s dressed, so he does the only thing he can think to do, which is walk over to where Kenny’s standing. This time they simultaneously throw their arms around each other just like earlier tonight—too forcefully; they collapse in a tangle onto the bed. Kenny runs his fingers through Kota’s still-damp hair, and Kota knows they’ll have to get up eventually to eat or whatever, but _this_. This is all he wants. He can’t fully trust Kenny’s words just yet, but this... it’s honest, beyond words. _The truest thing I’ve ever known_.

After a few minutes of just enjoying being close, Kenny says, “I feel like I should be devastated right now. I don’t know if I’ve lost the Bullet Club, I don’t know if anyone wants me around anymore… that ugliness was keeping me awake at night. It was making me sick.”

“You looked like _shit._ I was worried about you,” Kota says it without thinking, and then wishes he hadn’t casually admitted that he’s been paying attention.

Kenny’s too lost in thought to notice, still stroking Kota’s hair. “It sucked up so much of my energy. I felt like dying but… this feels like where I’m supposed to be.” He squeezes Kota to his chest, kissing the top of his head over and over. “You saved me. This is where I belong. Thank you. Oh god, thank you.” He takes Kota’s hand, and kisses his knuckles softly. “I’m not even sad; I’m _done._ ” He says it like he’s pleasantly surprised, like he’s realizing this is how he _really_ feels. He laughs to himself. “I really am. I’m done. Kota! I’m so ready to be right _here_ , and to be done with all of that bullshit.” He squeezes Kota again, rocking back and forth a little.

Kota doesn’t know what to say, or even what to think. He just nuzzles into Kenny’s arms. An easy answer. They lay there, silently intertwined, for a long time.

Finally, Kenny says softly, “come with me.”

“Where?”

“When I tell Matt and Nick. About us. About me, really. When I tell them the truth.”

Kota just nods against Kenny’s chest, not really knowing what to think anymore. Kenny’s saying things he’s wanted to hear; it hardly seems real, and definitely isn’t easy to believe. It’s overwhelming and disorienting. But. _We’re here_.

Kenny leans his cheek against Kota’s forehead. “They’re my brothers. I love them. That’s bigger than the Bullet Club. I need them on my side.” He breathes in, then sighs. “As long as you’ll give me a chance, being on my side now includes you. It always should have. I don’t care what that means for the Bullet Club, that’s what’s best for _me_. I hope they’ll see that.”

Kota’s stomach knots up again. “I’m not sure I should go. They probably don’t like me very much.” He thinks of how they scowled at him in the hallway after the G1 final. Like it was _his_ fault Kenny couldn’t stop lying to everyone. “I don’t see how I can be helpful.”

“Oh, you won’t be.” Kenny laughs sadly at that, then sighs. “But… I want them to see I’m serious about this.” Kota’s startled to see Kenny watching him, seeing how he reacts. He’s not used to Kenny acting like this, so he’s sure his face still looks skeptical. Kenny pulls him in a little tighter, and kisses his forehead softly. “Most importantly, you deserve to hear me tell them.”

Kota’s piling more disbelief on top of deep layers of disbelief at this point, but in some still-working corner of his mind, he recognizes that this does not sound like the same Kenny who hid from the truth all these years, or the same one who never felt good enough. _This_ is a Kenny he wants to know more about. “That’s a start,” he admits, and Kenny smiles. “Okay, I’ll go.”

Kenny squeezes him, and says, “how about now?”

Kota realizes he can’t wait to get started with whatever’s next. “Okay.” They get up, and Kota puts on his coat and scarf as Kenny’s putting on his shoes.

“You won’t need this,” Kenny says, smiling and tugging at Kota’s scarf. “They’re in this hotel.” Kota just shrugs; truthfully it feels like some added security, extra layers to hide in as he tries to process all this. He puts a reassuring hand on Kenny’s elbow as Kenny opens the door, and Kenny pauses for a second. Then in one quick movement he lets the door slam shut, and grabs Kota by the scarf, startling him with a kiss, just like he had all those years ago, the first time. It’s been so long but Kota would probably remember how to do this in a different lifetime, because nothing else has ever felt quite this easy. _The truest thing I’ve ever known_. It starts sweet and timid but quickly grows into something consuming and fervent, the kind of kiss that needs desperate pauses for gulps of air. Kota grabs Kenny’s hips, and presses against him, backing him into the door. He can feel Kenny tense up, then melt into the pressure as he reaches for Kota’s face. Hands in hair, teeth on lips, heavy breath against soft skin. Kota smiles and leans his forehead on Kenny’s. Kenny’s smiling too, and he pecks a little kiss on Kota’s cheek. They laugh nervously; it feels almost shameful, how easy that was, how good at it they still are, even after so long. Not to mention how terrifying it is to remember where things used to go from there… “I’m sorry,” Kenny says. “I hope that was okay.”

“It’s…” it was fucking _amazing,_ but also _so soon_ and _so correct_ and _so important_ and _not yet not yet_ … “a lot.”

Kenny laughs, smiling in that way Kota’s only ever seen him smile when they’re together. “Yeah. Sorry. One thing at a time from here on out.”

Kota just nods. They’re clearly both a little disappointed by putting _that_ on indefinite hold, but it’s also a white-knuckle realization that they’re taking this _that_ seriously already.

Kenny finds Kota’s hand. “You ready?”

“No,” Kota says, because he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready for this, but he turns toward the door anyway.

“Me either,” Kenny says. “But if I’ve got you with me, I’ll be okay.”

“I’m with you now,” Kota says. _Now_. He can’t say it yet— _now_ is still so new and unknown—but he knows, whatever he _should_ want, his dumb soft heart wants _now_ to be _always_. _Maybe soon_.

“Time to make sure you'll want to stay,” Kenny says, fixing a grim and determined look on his face. He sighs heavily, opens the door, and leads Kota through.


	11. Anything worth doing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the high of their reunion, the process of actually becoming a team again is _messy_. It's made worse by Cody forcing himself on Kota, and the boys trying to deal with their romantic feelings at the same time as they're struggling just to be in sync as a tag team. So they're trying to be just friends, which is going about as well as you might guess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Reference to non-consensual kissing.
> 
> Not sure how I feel about this one, but here ya go! This takes place right around Sakura Genesis 2018, where the Golden Lovers faced Cody and Hangman Page in the leadup to their singles matches at Supercard of Honor. It also pays loving homage to a tweet in which Kenny implied he helped to quell Kota's late-night murderous impulses with the power of chamomile tea. 
> 
> Referenced events:  
> \- Kenny distracting Kota at Invasion Attack 2015, which would be exactly three years ago in timeline  
> \- An episode of Being the Elite where Matt Jackson angrily asks where Kota was over the three years the Young Bucks have been supporting Kenny in NJPW  
> \- Danshoku Dino, a DDT wrestler whose gimmick is forcing kisses on people
> 
> Everyone gets blueballs, including you, dear reader.
> 
> Chapter rating: T  
> Chapter word count: 5.6k

* * *

 

It’s late, and Kota’s still standing in the kitchen of Kenny’s apartment. Years ago, Kenny he would have been thrilled at the prospect of Kota possibly wanting to stay, but not tonight. Tonight they’d met, because tomorrow they have to face Kenny’s brothers in the Bullet Club, _again._ Kenny’s heart’s not in it—never really has been—and it’s starting to wear on Kota.

“Maybe you’ll be mad at me for this, but I was glad we were fighting the Young Bucks, in America,” Kota says, exasperated. “I thought it’d give you a chance to prove that you were really _here,_ really with me…”

Kenny speaks before he can stop himself. “Oh great, I’m glad _you_ saw it as an opportunity, when I was fighting my best friends, when I had to hurt people I love…” He stops short, realizing what he’s saying, and how little right he has to the irritation in his voice.

Kota looks _mad._ “I’ve asked for one thing. _Be with me._ I mean, _be on my side_ for once. Be… um… my friend.” After the kissing and snuggling in the hotel room, they’d both felt a little out of control, scared; the entirety of what they mean to each other was too much to try to disassemble-then-reassemble all at once. There really weren’t any good options for dealing with that, so the shitty option they’d decided to try was being friends—just friends—for the sake of the Golden Lovers. It’s been at best a naive endeavor, at worst a horrible heartbreaking distraction, and Kenny’s chest hurts a little every time either one of them has to refer to the other as _friend. But it’s not like I’m even being a good friend, let alone anything else._ Kota’s pacing, now. “Do you know what it was like to look up and see you celebrating with the Bullet Club after you cost me that match?”

Kenny hadn’t been celebrating, far from it in fact. He’d been wishing he could just die, right there in front of all those people. But it didn’t matter, because the damage was done. “I wasn’t—”

“When will I learn? You made the Bullet Club more important than me. You joined the Bullet Club to try to _forget_ me!”

Kenny feels the sting of shame in his cheeks, and he clenches his jaw as tight as he can to fight back tears. Kota’s right. _Why don’t you just leave?_

“… and somehow you were _still_ conflicted, after they abandoned you, after they hurt you, over and over…” he pauses, like he’s trying to work up the courage to say something. “And after _I_ put everything on the line for you!” He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Kenny remembers Matt saying _where was he?_ in that same tone; feeling the very same sentiment, just as justified in feeling it as Kota is now. Just like now, all Kenny’s fault, all because Kenny was too much of a coward to admit his mistakes. He just wants to lash out, like he used to, so at least the conversation would be _over,_ and he could crave death in peace. But that was the old Kenny; he’d promised himself he wouldn’t back away from the hard shit anymore. _I can at least try to keep *one* fucking promise._ “Kota…”

“They keep hurting you, Kenny,” Kota repeats. “And after all of that, if the Bullet Club is _still_ more important to you than I am? This isn’t going to work.”

Kenny doesn’t even try to hide the absolute panic _this isn’t going to work_ stabs into his heart. “It’s not—god… Kota, no. Nothing… _nothing_ is… the Bullet Club bled me dry… you… you’re…” He can't finish the sentence; nothing he could say would sound true when he hasn’t been able to back up words with action. And there’s certainly nothing he could say that would sound remotely like just-friends.

“Ugh, I truly am so _stupid._ I never should have pushed you into being a team again, of course you weren’t ready, of course—“

“I _was_ ready. I _am_ ready. God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care if you’re sorry! You’re either with me, or you’re not. You can’t have the Golden Lovers and the Bullet Club, Kenny, not when you threw away the Golden Lovers so they’d accept you.”

Kota’s still ostensibly talking about their tag team, their “friendship,” and he’s right—Kenny knows, of course, and has known, that he has to choose. He’s known that he has to excise the Bullet Club from his life, once and for all, if he wants to be the partner and… friend… that Kota deserves; and more importantly, if he's gong to be the version of himself he wants to be. Between the Bullet Club and Kota, even just-friends Kota, there’s no question which one is healthiest, which one makes Kenny happiest, and yet… everything he’s done points to the Bullet Club being his priority.

But of course, _nothing_ had ever _really_ been more important than Kota. Kota had never stopped being the love of Kenny’s life, his first and last thoughts of every day. _Not like I could ever prove it._ “I know. I haven’t shown you.” Kenny can't hold back tears, now, and he knows he’s crossing the line from talking about the Golden Lovers to talking about _them,_ not as just-friends, but the full breathtaking, immense, tangled breadth of what they mean to each other. They shouldn’t be talking about this, they should stick to _wrestling,_ but he can’t stop himself; there’s only one thing he can think to say, the only thing he can care about now, when it feels like it’s all falling apart. “I never stopped loving you. I never even wanted to stop loving you. I never _want_ to stop loving you. I love you.” Now that it’s spilling out of his mouth, he wonders why it had been so hard to say, over the years, and over the past several weeks. Loving Kota is the easiest thing he’s ever done. “I’m sorry. There’s really nothing I can say right now that will be right. Not when I’ve failed so thoroughly to match my actions to my words. But I love you.”

Kota looks vaguely annoyed, but unsurprised, and sucks his teeth, nodding. He sighs resignedly. “It was probably naive to think we could work on being the Golden Lovers without addressing…” They really _are_ earnestly trying to be collegial, but in their matches, their bond is obvious; they're constantly in contact, and it’s clear they both know _why._ It’s truthfully been pretty maddening, being so close, both obviously using the excuse to touch each other. Their efforts to be polite and platonic outside the ring have led to lots of mistakes and friction inside it, along with what feel like desperately stolen moments of closeness.

Kenny nods, and can’t help but laugh a little; this elephant in the room has gotten comically large. “It’s been… a challenge, yeah.” He’s a little embarrassed to think about how many of those “accidental” in-ring caresses he’s savored, filed away for later, to think about when he’s alone. He wonders if Kota’s done the same.

“It made it easier to stay away from you after he…” Kota trails off, but he doesn’t need to finish the sentence.

Kenny feels an instant spike of rage. _I’d kill him if I could._ Cody had been tormenting Kenny, but when he put his hands on Kota, put his _lips_ on Kota… Kenny’s vision had gone white with anger. He was glad Kota had immediately beaten the _shit_ out of Cody, both because Kota had defended himself, and because Kenny didn’t want to give Cody the satisfaction of what he _really_ wanted—Kenny breaking his pretty face right then and there, showing once and for all that the Best Bout Machine was unhinged and unfit to lead the Bullet Club. But if they hadn’t been in the ring? _Nothing_ could have stopped Kenny from taking that punk’s life. He’s been fantasizing about showing Cody tomorrow night just how he feels, and it kills him now to see how Kota’s dreading it. All of Kenny’s prior anxiety falls away, and is replaced with concern. “I didn’t want to bring it up… I didn’t know if you wanted to talk about it.”

Kota stares blankly. “I didn’t want anyone to touch me, after that… but you did, in the ring...” He gets very quiet. “And it was okay.” He presses his hands to his face, fighting tears. “This is so stupid. I didn’t want to be this upset.” He looks uncomfortable, plays with the sleeve of his shirt, paces around, then checks his watch. “I’m sorry, Kenny. You should get some rest. I didn’t realize how late it was. I’ll go.”

“No!” Kenny says without thinking much. “I mean, please. If you want to leave, don’t let me keep you. But I don’t want or need you to go.”

Kota, who clearly didn’t _actually_ want to leave, slumps down on the couch. “All those years putting up with that treatment from Dino, you think I’d be immune to it by now.” He stares out the window to the rain-sparkly street.

Kenny wants to wrap Kota in his arms and promise nothing bad will ever happen again. But things are so tense, and he definitely can't make that promise. He starts pacing, just trying to get rid of nervous energy. “That was a _lot_ different than Dino.”

Kota shudders. “Yeah. I know. Dino was joking around, even if I hated it. Cody… That was… _punishment._ That was _anger._ ” Kota buries is face in his hands, and breathes deliberately. “I thought I’d be over it by now.” Kenny can see a tear fall onto Kota’s lap. “The worst part is, he was doing it to hurt _you._ ”

Kenny’s chest feels like it's shattering. _You were the one he hurt. You have the kindest heart._ Kota, having endured assault, still apparently thinks the worst part was its effect on _Kenny_. Kenny just kinda wishes for death: if he’d left the Bullet Club to tear themselves apart like he should have, Cody couldn’t have gotten anywhere near Kota. “Oh, Kota… I’m so sorry, this is my fault.” Kota just keeps looking down. “It’s on me to make this right.” He knows it's true, but feels utterly powerless to make anything better. He’s standing behind the couch now, and kind of automatically lays a hand on Kota’s shoulder, before realizing that’s not very friendly. Kota freezes for a moment, but then grabs Kenny’s wrist and leans his head back, closing his eyes. Without really thinking, Kenny gently strokes Kota’s hair, lightly moving his fingers across Kota’s forehead. He feels Kota’s neck and shoulders relax. “It’s okay?”

Kota only nods, and leans into Kenny’s touch. _If this helps, I’ll stand here all night_. He laughs a little to himself as he thinks about their attempts to be _friends_ in contrast with how frighteningly fully he feels his love for Kota right now; overwhelming and warm and pure. He’s never loved anyone this much, not even Kota; more than ever Kenny can feel the full force of their impossible connection. But simultaneously, Kenny hates himself for how much he’s fallen short on giving Kota what he deserves. That has to stop. _I can’t lose you again._ Kenny zones out a little, still gently running his hands through Kota’s hair, lost in a confusing haze of devotion and anxiety, happy and grateful just to be touching Kota affectionately. When he snaps out of it several minutes later, he realizes Kota’s fallen asleep. Kenny goes into the bedroom and finds a soft pair of pajama pants, a well-worn t-shirt, a pair of fuzzy socks, a pillow off his bed and a blanket from the closet—even if friendship prevents him from holding Kota the way he’d like to, Kenny can still surround him in softness in this small way. He puts the clothes on the coffee table for Kota to find if he wakes up, and gently lays Kota down on the pillow, throwing the blanket over him. He can’t help but tuck the blanket under Kota’s chin and muss his hair a little before turning off the light and heading to bed. Despite all the difficult conversation, he falls asleep a lot easier knowing Kota’s sleeping peacefully nearby.

Maybe not so peacefully; Kenny’s phone buzzes at about 4am, letting him know that Kota’s tweeting stuff. Normally he probably wouldn’t check at 4am, even for Kota, but since Kota was, last Kenny knew, sleeping in the next room, his curiosity gets the better of him. Kota’s tweeting about… Kenny blinks, making sure he’s looking at the kanji he _thinks_ he’s looking at… killing? Strangulation? _Yeah. Hm._ Clearly, Kota’s thinking about Cody still, and given the “strangulation,” maybe Hangman too, their other opponent tomorrow night. Kenny winces at that; Adam’s not a bad kid, he just thought of the Bullet Club as his family, so of course he’s lashing out, siding with Cody. _Blaming Kota when it’s my fucking fault._ He can’t decide if he hopes Kota’s left, if he’s in that headspace, or if he’s still here. “Um. Kota?” No answer, but he can hear Kota moving around on the couch, so he hauls himself out of bed, bleary-eyed, and goes to the doorway. Kota’s sitting up on the couch, blanket over his head like a hood, and Kenny can see his face by the glow of his phone. Dead-eyed. Tired. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“I can’t get back to sleep,” he says simply, not looking up.

“I saw your tweet,” Kenny says, and now Kota looks at him, and he looks shaken. All Kenny wants is to go over to the couch and hold Kota until he _can_ get back to sleep, but he’s not sure how welcome that’d be. Instead, he decides to make some tea. _That’s supposed to help you sleep, right? Not that anything has ever helped me. Except you._ As Kenny’s filling the electric kettle he thinks about that; how the only time in his life he can _ever_ remember consistently sleeping well was when Kota was next to him. Shit, he slept pretty well knowing Kota was sleeping on his couch. _How can I ever be good for you?_

“I’m sorry to scare you,” Kota says cautiously. “I haven’t been sleeping very well. Since then. Heh. Can you even imagine me not sleeping well?”

Kenny lets himself laugh a little; Kota’s the heaviest sleeper he’s ever known. He’s seen Kota sleep through things he’d never thought a person could sleep through; construction, an earthquake, a fender-bender, blow jobs. “Not really.” He’s standing there awkwardly, waiting for the water to boil, and Kota’s fidgeting on the couch. Kenny doesn’t know what else to do; he sighs and says, “do you want me to…”

Kota’s nodding vigorously before Kenny can even finish his sentence, and Kenny crosses the room in two steps, sitting down and wrapping Kota burrito-style in the blanket in one motion. Kenny leans against the arm of the couch, and Kota leans back against him, letting himself be swaddled, laying his head on Kenny’s shoulder.  

They just sit there like that for a while, and Kenny can feel himself recharging, coming back to life, just having Kota in his arms again. He hopes Kota feels anything remotely similar. Kenny’s so grateful for how close he is, for the achingly familiar smell of his hair. _You’re the bravest person I know. I’d fucking kill Cody tomorrow if I could get away with it._ “We’ll beat them, Ibutan. I’ll do it by myself if I have to.” The kettle pops, and Kenny doesn’t want to move, but for some reason the tea feels important.

As Kenny fusses with the tea, Kota’s just sitting there numbly, looking out the window. Kenny doesn’t want to push him to talk, so the tea’s already been steeping a few minutes before Kota says anything. “I think… I think it would be okay if I knew you were with me. If I knew I could count on you.” He sits back on the couch, eyes red, looking out the window again. “I want to kill him. I’m so angry. I feel so alone.”

Kenny fights the overwhelming urge to spiral into self-loathing; he's gotta finish making the tea, after all. There’s nothing he can say, nothing that won’t sound hollow or calculated, but he knows he has to start somewhere, or they’ll never get past this. “You’re not alone. I know I’ve made you feel that way. But you’re not. I need to do better.” Kenny sits next to Kota on the couch again and hands him a mug of tea. “I know you can take care of yourself, but he _won’t_ hurt you again. I’ll kill him _for_ you if I have to.” He sounds like he’s joking, and he probably is, but maybe that would be a small start toward _ever_ showing Kota enough loyalty to make up for how much he’s already fucked up.

“Thanks,” Kota deadpans, as if Kenny had offered to buy him lunch rather than murder someone he used to consider family.

As Kota’s taking the mug, Kenny realizes that he actually did change into the pajamas Kenny left out for him; just the pants though. Kota wearing Kenny’s clothes is sexy and endearing all at once, and Kenny gets weird pangs of ownership he doesn’t deserve. “Uh, it’s chamomile,” Kenny says, mostly to fill the silence. “It’s supposed to help you sleep.”

Kota sighs and takes a few sips, then gets up to go to the bathroom. While he’s gone, Kenny sleepily takes the blanket and wraps it around his shoulders like a cape; he’s also not wearing a shirt, and it’s cold outside of his bed. He takes a sip of Kota’s tea.

Kota opens the door and looks at Kenny skeptically. “Stealing my tea _and_ my blanket, Kenny?” He sounds like he’s kidding, but it still makes Kenny feel like an asshole; he was just so tired, wasn’t really thinking. He immediately starts scrambling to disentangle from the blanket, but Kota grabs one of Kenny's wrists and sits down, curling himself into Kenny’s arms.

Kenny’s bewildered but grateful as Kota nestles into position between his legs. He wraps the blanket around them both, squeezing Kota’s shoulders tight, folding the blanket around him like a cocoon, as if that could keep him safe. It's electric, being that close, outside of the ring, letting themselves have the contact they’ve both obviously wanted. _Skin on skin._ Kenny’s not a religious person but he feels like he’s praying as he holds Kota as tightly as he can muster, _please let him be okay,_ Kenny implores no one. _Please help me be what he needs me to be._ There’s nothing Kenny would rather be doing than feeling Kota’s warm skin against his, reveling in the illusion that he can protect Kota, or heal him. Kota leans his forehead against Kenny’s cheek, and Kenny strokes his hair _._ He feels… whole. Not that he remembers _ever_ feeling that way without Kota. The desperate anxiety of knowing he needs to make Kota feel that way too tries to gnaw at him, but for now the sweetest comfort of being close again overrides everything else. They sit in silence for a long time.

“I feel a little better,” Kota finally says softly, as though he's a little surprised by it.

“It’s the tea. Best remedy for body aches, sore throat, and murderousness,” Kenny jokes, and he feels Kota almost-laugh. For maybe the fifth time tonight, Kenny stops himself from reflexively saying _I love you_ after being overwhelmed with the feeling. When they were kids, Kota had been the first one to say _love_ , to cross that line. _Thank you for letting me love you,_ he’d said. Kenny promises himself that he'll be the first one this time, _it’ll be such a good moment,_ and then he remembers he stupidly blurted it out earlier already. _Ruined my own moment. Typical._ He squeezes Kota’s shoulders again, in spite of himself planting a little kiss on top of Kota’s head. _Oops._

Kota doesn’t seem to mind. “Thank you. For the tea, and…” he pauses, clearly trying to summon the right word, but only comes up with “this.”

Kenny sees a chance to get his moment back. _I do love overwrought poetic symmetry._ “Thank _you_ …” he says, and he could never forget the exact way Kota said the rest, so he tries to mimic it now: “for letting me love you.” He’s not even sure if Kota remembers saying it, let alone whether it’ll be a welcome callback now. But there’s absolutely nothing Kenny will ever be more grateful for, nothing even in the same universe, than the opportunity to love and be loved by Kota.

For a second Kota just sits there, doesn’t react, and Kenny’s worried he went too far. They’re currently stretching the boundaries of friendship and professionalism, but maybe there are still lines they shouldn’t cross. Kota sighs, shoulders heaving a little. “I remember. You said, ‘it’s the greatest gift I’ve ever been given.'”

Kenny laughs. “I don’t remember saying that. But it’s still true, so maybe I wasn’t totally stupid back then.”

“You were, but I was too, so I didn’t notice a thing.” Kota wraps his arms around Kenny’s waist, but says, “I guess I’m still stupid _now_ , really, being here and everything. Ugh.”

“I can’t really argue with you, darlin’,” Kenny says a little sadly, still stroking Kota’s hair, “but god, I’m just so grateful you’re here. Not that I deserve it. I’m still stupid, too. Infinitely more now, in fact. At least back-then-me could make you do that goofy smile-laugh thing.”

Kota does the goofy smile-laugh thing. “I didn’t know that was something I do, but I bet you can still make it happen. Like I said, I’m still incredibly stupid. I’ve always been stupid about you.” They both laugh; it’s morbid and sad, but it’s _honest_ , and they’ve always had this blessing-and-curse of enjoying the _shit_ out of each other even when everything felt bleak between them, always able to see the situation at a remove, from the vantage point of how much they love each other. A vantage point that would be useful to ignore, sometimes. Kenny leans his head on Kota’s, and everything feels right.

Then Kota— _he’s so damn quick—_ shifts, and his lips are on Kenny’s lips. _No, *now* everything feels right._ Kota starts almost timidly, like he’s trying to find something familiar. _I’m still here._ Kenny opens his mouth a little and that’s enough; Kota’s hands are immediately on Kenny's face and his thumbs are gently pressing Kenny’s jaw, asking for more access _._ Kota starts with little bites to Kenny’s lower lip, and Kenny just wants to let go, be consumed by it, kiss Kota until they’re both gasping for breath, show him some tiny fragment of the devotion and tenderness he deserves. But he's worried about Kota’s _last_ kiss, one he didn’t want. _Now your most recent kiss is with someone who loves you._ He stays gentle and restrained, and as much as he’s holding himself back, craving more, there’s an aching sweetness and softness here that Kenny doesn’t know how he ever lived without. Kota pulls back when he realizes Kenny seems subdued. He looks panicked. “Oh no. Oh I shouldn’t have done that; I should have asked first, since we’re trying to be…” he sounds like he doesn’t know what word to use.

“No, no, it’s… I didn’t want to be too aggressive, you know? After everything that’s happened?”

Kota looks at him; scared, confused, unsure, but then touched. “Thank you.” He’s still staring at Kenny with a hard-to-place expression.

“No, it’s…” _The absolute least I can do, when this is all my fault._ “Of _course_.” _I’d do anything. You have no idea._

Kota’s expression settles on concern, of some kind, and he slowly gets to his knees, facing Kenny, hands still on either side of Kenny’s face, eyes searching for… Kenny can’t tell what. Slowly and deliberately, he moves closer until he’s almost straddling Kenny’s lap, and brings them cheek to cheek. “Please don’t hold back,” he says softly, and Kenny doesn’t even have a chance to react before Kota’s kissing him again, pressing his head back against the couch, almost daring Kenny to respond.

Kenny doesn’t need to be told twice; one hand gets buried in Kota's hair, the other grabs his waist, and Kenny pulls Kota into his lap, smirking to himself gratefully at how Kota’s breath hitches when Kenny finds his throat with teeth, lips, and tongue. Kota throws his arms around Kenny’s neck and Kenny’s returning every hungry kiss, slowly and lightly moving his hands over Kota’s face, then his arms, then his chest and ribs. The shape of Kota’s body is so different from how Kenny remembers it; the muscles and curves have changed, and he hopes to memorize every last one. But the skin feels fantastically the same, just how he’s remembered it every damn day, for years: warm and smooth, familiar as his own face; like coming home. Kota stops for a moment to watch, heavy-lidded, breathing ragged, as Kenny's hands move purposefully over Kota’s stomach and waist. Kenny wants to touch every inch of exposed skin, like he can erase the violation that happened there and replace it with reverence and tenderness. He can damn well try. He tugs Kota’s hair and brings him back, kissing him the way he knows by heart, like someone who’s lived a sainted enough life to say they have years of experience kissing Kota Ibushi. _I love you. This is how I kiss you. You’d know it was me if you were deaf and blind._ He thinks it with his whole mind, like maybe he can beam it into Kota’s brain, _you’re safe. This is how you deserve to be kissed. And if you’d let me, I’d do it forever._

“I missed you,” Kenny says, pressing his face into Kota’s shoulder, peppering kisses on his collarbone. “I never felt awake, or whole…” He knows he should stop saying this stuff, he doesn’t want to make Kota uncomfortable. But Kota’s comfort is the only reason; otherwise he can’t begin to care whether he’s exposing too much, being too vulnerable. When they were kids, he’d fought the truth, avoided admitting to himself that he was in love until it was no longer possible to lie. He was never able to keep up that lie again, to himself or anyone else, even when he really, really wanted to. Needed to. Now, he never wants to let a second go by where the truth isn't plain on his face, in his words, and in his actions. He hasn't done so hot at that, admittedly, but this time, he won't give up on himself in self-loathing. “I missed you so much,” he says, hands on Kota’s hips, thumbs pressing into the hollow just below his hipbones.

Kota still doesn’t say anything, he just reaches down and tilts Kenny’s chin up and searches Kenny’s face briefly before moving in for another heavy kiss. He circles his arms around Kenny’s neck, pushing his whole body against Kenny’s, grinding their hips together. Kenny can’t even keep up the kiss, he just gasps for breath as he feels that friction, only thin layers of fabric between them, and his hands are so close… Kota slides his hips more deliberately now, looking down to take in the view. It’s agonizingly hot to watch Kota as he watches them get harder together, move more aggressively against each other; to watch his eyes close in pleasure, his mouth fall open in a silent gasp. Kota looks up, locking his eyes on Kenny’s; first his gaze is intense and searching, then softens into helpless arousal.

It takes every fragment of resolve Kenny has to squeeze Kota’s hips, stopping him from moving. He almost can’t fight through how badly he wants this, this moment he’s imagined more times than he could count, but he has to. _Promises to keep._ “No,” he says softly, through clenched teeth and eyes; he can’t even look at Kota. “Stop… I’m sorry,” he says, taking Kota’s hands off his shoulders, clutching them together in front of him. He breathes as deeply as he can, breath still uneven. Finally, he makes himself look at Kota, who’s hurt, confused, and scared. “Kota…” he brings Kota’s hand to his lips, lightly kissing his fingertips, not wanting to let go. He wishes that there was a way to say this that left the door open, but… “You were saying a few minutes ago how stupid you feel for being here, how angry you are at yourself for being with me even when I’ve failed you…” He sighs deeply. “I can’t… I don’t want you to feel awful about this later.”

Kota starts to protest, but grinds his teeth, letting his head drop onto Kenny’s shoulder in defeated frustration. “I want to tell you I won’t regret it,” he says slowly, and Kenny can tell he’s fighting past the heat, too. “But you’re right; I can’t be sure. Ugh. _Ughhh._ ” Kenny had half hoped Kota would fight back, but he knows he can’t risk Kota feeling more taken advantage of, more unsure of himself. Kota slowly and reluctantly drags himself off Kenny’s lap, and it aches to have him gone. They stare at each other, breathing heavy, for a few moments, then Kota brings a hand to Kenny’s face, and kisses him softly, almost timidly, before sitting back on his heels and returning his gaze to Kenny’s face. He fidgets in discomfort, and takes a few deep breaths.

Kenny, still trying to come down, just watches him, now keenly aware of the movements of his muscles, his lips, the way his hair falls in his eyes. All the things Kenny’s been trying to ignore the last few weeks. He locks eyes with Kota, and they both laugh self-consciously, both helplessly frustrated. The situation feels tenuous, and Kenny couldn’t say no if Kota insisted, even a little, right now. And he knows that if he changed his mind now, Kota would probably happily go along with it. He’s fighting himself every second not to give in, but even in this compromised state, he realizes he's more than willing to sacrifice  _ now _ if it means a better shot at  _ forever. _ “I uh… Heh. I need to go back to bed. You can stay here if you want…” his eyes again pass hungrily over Kota’s body, “…but you should probably go home, if you feel okay to.” He can tell by the look on Kota’s face, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“You’re right,” Kota says, sighing deeply. He peels himself off the couch, and heads to the bathroom to change, and Kenny just sits there, head in hands. Kota comes out a few seconds later, and Kenny still briefly considers pulling Kota down onto the couch, giving into what they’d both just wanted to do. “Thanks,” Kota says, handing Kenny the pants he’d been wearing. They smell like Kota, and Kenny tells himself he’s definitely _not_ going to bring them with him when he goes back to bed. Kota heads to the door to put his shoes on.

“Are you okay?” Kenny asks, still a little loopy from waking up suddenly, then being almost unbearably aroused.

“Yeah,” Kota says, nodding. “I really do feel a lot better.” He stands up to grab his coat.

“Well, um… have a safe trip home,” Kenny says, in some part of his mind imagining himself giving in and asking Kota to stay. “I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ve got people to kill.”

Kota laughs nervously. “Yeah.” He looks around his feet like he dropped something, then suddenly throws his arms around Kenny’s neck, pulling him close, tangling his hand in Kenny’s hair. Kenny’s a little caught off guard, but after a few moments, he squeezes Kota to his chest, and Kota responds with small, soft kisses to Kenny’s jaw. “Thank you,” he says between kisses, and squeezes Kenny harder.

“Don’t thank me,” Kenny says, half because he knows he doesn’t deserve it, and half because he can hardly handle this kind of tenderness as a goodbye. But he doesn’t let go.

Kota rests his head on Kenny’s shoulder, silent for a long time, dusting kisses across Kenny's collarbone. “I missed you, too,” he says. “I could never say how much.” He pulls away, holding Kenny’s gaze. “And I love you, too,” he says, unflinching, with resolve. He leans in for one more kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, Kenny-tan,” he says, and opens the door.

Of all the things Kenny’s had to process tonight, that one is the most stunning, and Kenny tears up before he even really knows how he feels. He’s terrified, actually: Kota’s leaving so he doesn't do something he might regret, but if he ends up wishing he hadn't said those things, things Kenny’s been dreaming of hearing him say for _years…_ that would be far, far worse. Kenny has a list in his mind, of all the things he'd planned to say as soon as there was even a shred of hope that Kota felt the same, but now that it's happened, he knows it's way too soon. So he just smiles.  _I probably can't kill people to protect you, but at least let me keep_ _your heart safe, my Golden Star._ “Goodnight,” Kenny says as Kota leaves, then locks the door behind him.


	12. Big Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *narrator voice* It was _not_ easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place right before Wrestlemania-I-mean-Supercard-of-Honor weekend. For my non-American friends, "The Big Easy" is the nickname of the city of New Orleans.
> 
>  **Chapter rating:** E  
>  **Chapter word count:** 5.5k (I am sorry I'm like this.)

_Which one is my room again?_ Kenny frowned and dug through his pockets for his key card. He hated how disoriented he was, how exhausting it was to be around Kota, now, even though all he wanted was to be around Kota. _Ah. 619; an auspicious number, I hope._ Kenny was leaving Kota’s room after planning out their travel to the airport tomorrow to head to New Orleans. _We’re sharing a room there. Of course._ So much of Kenny’s brain was obsessing about how to best way to deal with the suffocating problem of Them that he hardly even remembered what they’d just talked about. _So many years and you can still derail my entire train of thought just by existing._ They loved each other. It was established. But the rest was a huge mess: they both _wanted_ there to be more, it was clear there _would_ be, but it felt so out of reach with all the huge feelings in the way. Kenny wondered if he’d been this frustrated the first time he was helplessly in love with Kota. _First time? No. I’ve never stopped._ He could admit that, now.

Training was one thing; at least there, the temptation to watch Kota made him focus even harder on his own movements and strategies; inspiration to stay aware of himself. But in the ring, _oh_. Kenny could do nothing but watch, both because he was in the corner waiting for a tag, and because it was impossible to keep his eyes off Kota. When they were younger, he used to watch in awe at his partner's incredible skill, and watching his gorgeous body move was a delightful side effect. Kenny would let himself feel a little smug; _all these people watching him work, and I get to know how gentle those hands can be, and what hard muscle feels like under soft skin._ Even back then, Kota was effortlessly arresting; objectively beautiful, it felt like. But things were different, now that they were heavyweights, and now Kota had the most perfect physique Kenny had ever seen in his lifetime of seeing perfect physiques.

Now, there's sex in every movement; he can't help it, his body _just fucking looks like that_ , and Kenny often caught himself wondering whether other people could see the eroticism in the fluid way he moves and the way his muscles rise and fall under his skin. Kenny always thought the phrase “poetry in motion” was fucking cheesy, but now it came to his mind a few times a week while watching his Golden Star effortlessly share his power and grace with the world; Kenny couldn’t avoid stupidly gushing hyperbole, even in his own thoughts. _A freak of nature in the best way._ Even after so many years, Kota’s beauty was still startling, overwhelming, difficult to grasp. Kenny would watch this man he knew as well as himself, knowing fully he was actually a ridiculous, shy, impulsive goof, but when he moved, Kenny could see nothing but sex and art. Every graceful arch of his back, the way he stretched his neck and shoulders, the devastating curve of his waist… all of it made Kenny feel like he was seeing something he shouldn’t be seeing; so blatantly sensual that touching him was all Kenny could imagine. Worst of all, it looked just familiar enough that Kenny could still bring to mind the feeling of his hands on Kota’s thighs, his hips, his shoulders; _everywhere._ But Kota’s body also looked different enough that Kenny's curiosity about what his hands would find _now,_ the craving to explore it all anew, sometimes felt like it might burn him to the ground.

It wasn’t fair. It just fucking wasn’t. On top of all the unbearable beauty, Kenny was even more in awe of Kota’s natural talent than ever. He’d worked through the toxic jealousy he felt when they were younger, accepted honestly that he’d scraped and clawed and suffered his way to every move he could do, and that Kota, even now, seemed to be divinely ordained with his abilities. That was just a truth, nothing to feel jealous about. Right after Wrestle Kingdom 11, Kenny saw the video of himself hitting a Golden Triangle Moonsault on Okada, and while the move looked technically flawless, it had this graceless, aggressive weight to it that he chalked up to all the muscle he’d packed on. As with so many things Kota-related, he knew he was lying to himself, but his denial kept him alive. Now, though, he’d watch the gifs of their X-Slash, and where there was once sickening envy, now there was just a kind of resigned, defeated amusement at how—even when they were doing the exact same movement, in perfect sync, something they’d practiced hundreds of times—he still looked like an angry gorilla doing a flip, and Kota still looked like an actual angel doing something as natural for him as breathing.

Kenny had somehow made it to his room, though he didn’t remember the journey. He needed to _sleep,_ so he could stop obsessing about this, so he could prepare himself for what might be a very tense weekend. They were flying to the other side of the world to wrestle, and he didn’t intend to lose after traveling so far. He’d need a lot of focus… _Where is that thing?_ Kenny tore apart his suitcase looking for his toothbrush, which he finally remembered he’d put in his backpack so he could freshen up between connecting flights. The backpack he’d left… _shit._ He loved having the excuse to see Kota again, but he had very little energy left for navigating the awkwardness he knew was coming. He shrugged, sighed, grabbed his key, and left.

* * *

Kota stared at his own face in the mirror, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. He was still obsessing over the loss from a few days ago, and he was surprised, now, at how exhausted he looked. Kenny had just left Kota’s hotel room after yet another tense, awkwardly platonic encounter where they talked about everything except the thing they needed to talk about most. Especially since tomorrow, they’d be flying to New Orleans, where they had to share a room. Kota did not remember ever dreading the prospect of spending several days abroad with Kenny. He finished brushing his teeth, then stepped out of his sweatpants, wrapped a towel around his waist, and turned on the shower.

The night before the loss he was obsessing about, he and Kenny had been strategizing, and he’d left Kenny’s apartment to avoid doing something he’d regret, but now spending time with Kenny was even _more_ distracting and confusing. Yes, Cody had cheated, but Kota had left himself open to it, and he knew exactly why he’d been so off his game. Leaving Kenny’s apartment that night had been the right choice, Kota knew, but he left without being able to articulate to Kenny exactly _why_ it was, or for that matter, how much he'd wanted to stay. _I’ve always been horrible with words anyway. Kenny’s so good at them._

Kota was forever in awe of Kenny’s skill with words, the control he could have over ten thousand people all at once. When he’d wanted to, he’d talked an entire stable into following him, and some of them still would unquestioningly follow Kenny anywhere. Every time he watched Kenny talk, Kota felt so lucky that sometimes Kenny used that power to express love; he got to experience Kenny’s skill with words in a way no one else ever would. Of course, he’d also seen just how powerful Kenny’s lies were—Kota had never believed them, but Kenny had everyone else totally fooled, and Kota envied it as much as it mystified and frustrated him. For three years, he watched Kenny with a nauseating mixture of resentment, despair, and admiration; Kenny’s false words were so convincing that even Kenny himself had come to believe them. It was the reason Kota had doubted himself so much: his every instinct told him this wasn’t the real Kenny, but he was utterly alone in that feeling. The only time he _didn’t_ feel alone was when Kenny would let the front fall away, just for a moment, to show the cracks in his facade. But that only made Kota feel crazier and less certain of the thing he was actually _completely_ certain of, and now he wonders whether those moments were intentional, too.

And because he had a unique view into just how far Kenny could take a lie, Kota was now wary of anything Kenny said. Kenny knew it, and knew he deserved it. Not only did Kenny know his words had little weight, that night he had obviously been afraid of going too far, or saying too much. Which, Kota now realized, meant it was up to _him_ to figure out how to have the complex conversations they needed to have. That made it seem even more unreachable, because when _he_ tried to talk, it felt like his brain got in his way, he was always second-guessing and overthinking. _I still get anxiety when I have to cut a promo but I somehow thought we’d work this out by talking about it. Dumbass._ But he couldn’t shake the feeling that Kenny's devotion and intentions were honest and loving. _I knew when we kissed. Oh._

It clicked, then: whether in the ring or elsewhere, their communication was its most honest in touch. Touch never lied, and never failed them, even when things were bad between them. Even when words, language, fell short. Before Kenny, it had always been people who didn’t see past Kota's looks, or who wrongly read him as aloof enough to be a blank slate for whatever they needed to feel that night. Kenny was the only person who’d ever made Kota feel wholly loved and wanted at once, and he’d made it obvious right from the start. Every touch and gesture, even the rough ones, conveyed love, like it could be transmitted through fingertips and lips. It was electric; addictive, since the very first moment they’d laid hands on each other outside the ring. Kota tried to remember if he’d been this uncertain back then. _Skin on skin. The truest thing I’ve ever known._

 _But is it *still* true?_ Years of icy silence had failed to fully convince Kota of the finality of things between them, but if being in contact like that again didn’t feel the same, there would be no more question, and no more hope. Either way, they'd still have to do their jobs after they found out the answer _._ The thought of that made him shiver, even as he tested the shower water to see if it was warm enough yet. _What if it’s gone? There’s really only one way to find out for sure, I guess. Right? Ugh, I’m not even good at persuasively talking *to myself*. I’m so much better at kicking people._

There was a knock at the door, clearly a louder one after several had gone unheard. “Excuse me, your food is here, sir.”

 _Oh shit._ He’d been so focused on his train of thought that he’d forgotten he’d ordered room service. Not only had he just brushed his teeth, thus pre-ruining the taste of his food, he was also not decent enough to answer the door. “I’m sorry! Just a second!” He threw on a hotel robe over his towel, and scrambled to find the sweatpants he’d taken off.

“I’ll bring it in, don’t worry, thank you very much,” he heard a familiar voice say. “I forgot my bag,” Kenny yelled to the closed door, as a means of contrite explanation.

 _Ugh, Kenny. Both the only person and the last person I need to see right now._ Kota opened the door, standing behind it for decency’s sake in case there was someone in the hallway. “Sorry, I’m kind of out of sorts right now,” he said, ushering Kenny in.

* * *

“Well, I’ve thoughtfully brought you some dinner that I purchased myself,” Kenny joked as he made his way to the desk to put down the food, trying his best to stay on task. “Besides,” he said, reaching to grab his backpack from behind the chair he’d been sitting in, “you know ‘out of sorts’ is a permanent state for you, Buu-san; I’m used to it by now.” Bag in hand, he turned to leave, wanting to get back to the relative emotional and libidinal safety of his own room as quickly as possible, and only then did he notice that the shower was on, and Kota was standing there in a bathrobe with a towel around his waist. _Not helpful, Ibutan._ “Oh.” _Shit._ “I’m sorry.” He looked away, hoping he appeared respectful rather than flustered at the whole nudity-adjacent situation. “I’ll let you get back to your shower.” To avoid walking too close to Kota, he went over and lifted the cover on one of the room service plates, like he was curious about Kota’s dinner. A weird assortment of foods,  but it included a pretty nice looking cheese plate, at least, which Kenny helped himself to in an attempt to find anything to do with his hands. “I’ll just take this for the road.” He laughed in a way that he hoped did not sound forced, took a bite of the cheese, and hurried toward the door, but Kota grabbed his wrist before he could get there.

Startled, still chewing, and slightly confused, Kenny slowly turned to face him, and panicked when he saw the look on Kota’s face—it was the _take your clothes off_ look. Kenny always felt he’d somehow fooled the entire universe into letting him see that look enough times for it to be _that_ recognizable, but now would be the worst possible time to rely on that assumption. _That fucking look_ and Kota’s grip on his wrist made Kenny’s heart jump to his throat, and he felt an immediate need, as if all the things he’d been desperately ignoring the past several weeks had just been waiting to consume him the second there was an opening.  He watched Kota look him up and down, lips slightly parted, letting his eyes linger over Kenny’s hips, shoulders, and lips. _Fuck._ Kenny had been waiting for this for weeks; years, really. He hadn’t been able to think about anything else without great effort since that night at his apartment. He felt simultaneously charged with energy and deer-in-headlights frozen, leaning on the desk chair, brain completely emptied, although somewhere he was vaguely aware that he would need to do something about the cheese he was awkwardly holding. _Is this it?_

* * *

 _Well, I guess this is it._ Kota’s nerves made it impossible to think; he had no idea what to say, and anyway no words could really convey what he needed. But he knew where the conversation had to go, so he decided to just start talking and hope it eventually ended up with nudity. “Finish your cheese.” _Oh no. That is the worst sentence I have ever said in my life._ He could not stop himself from visibly wincing. He was now absolutely sure he was more nervous than he had been all those years ago. At least then he had youthful bravado and didn’t know just yet that Kenny was the love of his life.

Kenny looked confused and conflicted, but kept chewing slowly, and was silent for a long moment, during which Kota began regretting starting this at all. _Idiot, too soon, impulsive, thinking with your dick;_ he ran through at least a dozen different disparaging thoughts about his decision-making non-skills. Kenny’s face rapidly changed as he tried to collect his thoughts, _don’t worry about trying to find a nice way to say no this time, just leave,_ and Kota dropped Kenny’s wrist, deciding that being slowly launched into the sun would be preferable to the task of walking this back. _But it's the right thing to do_. “Sorry. I was just—“

* * *

“Well.” Kenny interrupted him, worried Kota was second, third, and fourth-guessing himself. _That’s probably the first time in the history of language that the phrase ‘finish your cheese’_ _has gotten someone hard._ “Uh. Heh,” he stalled, trying to think of a smooth and cool way to convey _holy shit would you please fuck me_ without making Kota, who was clearly and adorably very nervous, feel pressured. When Kenny hesitated, though, Kota’s eyes opened wide in distress, so Kenny just said what he was thinking; “that’s probably the first time in the history of language that the phrase ‘finish your cheese’ has gotten someone hard _._ ” _You were not supposed to say that out loud, Kenny, Jesus._

Kota looked confused, which was at least an upgrade from terrified. Kenny took another bite of cheese and laughed nervously, then timidly laid his hand on Kota’s hip, lightly rubbing with his thumb. “But I learned long ago to never underestimate your abilities, Ibutan.” _Pretty good save, Omega._ He tried to find the nerve to keep going, but couldn't. “… This is really good cheese,” he said in his most sultry voice, popping the remaining bit in his mouth. Kota stifled a laugh, but kept his face mostly straight as Kenny chewed theatrically. It _was_ really good cheese. “So, I… finished my cheese. Like you told me,” he said, trying to look intense.

Kota gave him a serious look, and Kenny could feel his fingers shaking as he brought his hand to Kenny’s cheek. He closed his eyes, hoping this was it, as he felt Kota’s face next to his. “Your breath smells like cheese now, and I just brushed my teeth,” Kota whispered. That caught Kenny off guard, and he laughed loudly, surprising himself, which made Kota laugh too. Normally, Kenny would have been delighted by how easy it was to be playful and goofy together, even in moments this charged. Just now, though, grateful as he was for the reminder of their connection, it felt like they were both deflecting, keeping their distance, trying to cover real, messy feelings with jokey detachment.

Kenny went into the bathroom to quickly rinse his mouth, and took the opportunity to collect his thoughts. He turned off the shower that Kota had absent-mindedly left on, and it made him remember that their first time had been in the shower. They were stupid and horny enough to fuck in the DDT locker room showers, but even so, before they’d done anything sexual, Kenny remembers how they’d just stood there in the running water, holding onto each other like they were finally home. _I knew even then I wanted this forever._ He smiled to himself, some of his nerves calmed by the memory. It was still so clear in his mind, that feeling that he was whole, and it had been a source of strength, even in his worst times, even when he never would have admitted it. And in Sapporo, when Kota had come back for him— _saved_ him—he remembered it then, too, while they’d held each other like they were finally home, as confetti showered them. And he was whole again. He wasn’t nervous anymore, now; all he wanted was to hold Kota like that again, knowing that it always led where it needed to. He nodded to himself in the mirror, took a deep breath, and left the bathroom.

Kota was just staring at him, still looking nervous, but also intently focused. Kenny smiled sweetly and reached his hands out. “You know how much I love overwrought poetic symmetry, Buu-san, so I appreciate that you left the shower on, but I turned it off, because—“

* * *

Kota reached for Kenny’s face with both hands, pulling their lips together, and stopped his nervous babbling with an aggressive kiss. _That *would* have been poetic,_ Kota thought, with a brief and ridiculous moment of relieved gratitude, knowing himself well enough to know that some small region of his brain would have obsessed about the running water. Kenny was off balance and Kota spun him around, grabbed him by both arms, and shoved him onto the bed; Kenny landed with a hitched breath and a smirk. Kota grabbed a handful of Kenny’s hair and laid into his neck with his teeth while using his other hand to push Kenny’s chest so he was sitting up, leaning against the headboard. Kenny made a soft sighing noise, and Kota, still standing next to the bed, continued licking and sucking his neck. Just as he’d hoped, it felt like instinct took over; he’d never forgotten all the little things he knew made Kenny shiver. Kenny lifted his hips to help Kota get his sweatpants off, his lack of underwear meant his cock was already rigidly upright. Kota removed the towel from his waist, but left on the robe he was wearing, and Kenny took off his own shirt, throwing it to the side, then reached up for Kota with both arms. Kota got on his knees above Kenny, straddling his lap, hands on both sides of his face, kissing him hard enough to press his head back against the headboard.

The way Kenny responded—the way his hands felt warm on Kota’s skin as he ran them up under the robe, the unabashed, eager way he tilted his head up to meet Kota’s lips, the way he hungrily opened his mouth and sighed into the kiss—was so familiar that the instant Kota felt it again, it was like it had never been gone.

* * *

It was like it had never been gone, that feeling of _home_ Kenny felt when they were _this_ close, and he wondered why he’d ever tried to live without Kota’s hands on him, gently responsive and enticingly controlling. He suddenly felt like he couldn’t kiss hard enough, couldn’t have enough contact; Kenny gasped for breath as Kota bit his lip, pressing against him, the wet tip of his dick insistent against Kenny’s chest. The body under Kenny's hands was bigger, almost unrecognizably so, and he ran his hands over Kota’s hips, looking for something that felt like what he remembered. But that could happen later; he wrapped his arms tight around Kota’s waist and pulled him down onto his lap.

As they pressed together, it felt exactly like he'd hoped it would; like dormant circuits immediately whirring back to life. They’d closed themselves off to a language they could now speak again, more fluently than any other they had in common. Kenny let his eyes flutter shut, making soft grunting noises as Kota rocked his hips. Eyes closed now, he focused entirely on the feeling of Kota’s lips on his shoulder, Kota’s fingers brushing his nipples, pulling his hair.  It all felt so kinetic, possessed of an intense energy; surprisingly fervent and insistent. Kenny grabbed Kota’s ass and pulled him closer, and every bit of restraint, worry, and distance fell away, replaced suddenly and completely by a consuming, hungry need for as much contact as possible. Kota pressed Kenny hard against the headboard, and every thought Kenny had was utterly lost to the frantic, electric scramble for closeness of bodies starved of each other for far too long. All he wanted was as much of _this_ as possible; he had no desire to make it last, only for _more._

* * *

He no desire to make it last, only for _more_ contact, more friction, more kisses interrupted by gasps for breath; urgently and only _more_. Kota got some hand lotion from the nightstand and took both of them in his hands, stroking them together to lubricate, and he almost couldn’t cope with the familiar, electric feeling of being hard together, sliding against each other. Muscle memory sparked into action, as if his hands had never forgotten exactly the right way to twist his grip. Kenny sucked in air through his teeth, mouth falling open into a silent gasp, and while Kota usually liked to be absolutely in control of himself, right now he wanted no restraint, no delay. He reached down and took Kenny’s hand, gently circling it around both of them, and Kenny felt squeeze his ass harder with the other hand in response. Kota would normally have his eyes closed, moving on instinct and feeling, but now he wanted to watch every movement, see Kenny’s pained face, his beautiful cock, his strong forearm muscles, the hair where their hips met, the sweat on their skin, wanting to take in every bit of it. Kota put both hands on Kenny’s shoulders and rocked his hips, watching himself fuck Kenny’s hand, only wanting release.

 _“Kota,”_ Kenny groaned shakily, looking down to watch too, then just defeatedly sighed “ _fuck_ ” titling his head back and closing his eyes like the sight was too much to handle. “Kota,” he said again, very softly, then “ _fuck_ ” again, sounding on the verge of begging. That was too much; Kota remembered now how hot it was to hear Kenny say his name and revert to English curses as he came undone. Kota wanted to do whatever it took to unravel him completely. He grabbed a handful of Kenny’s hair, baring his throat again so he could revisit the marks he’d already left with his teeth. Kenny responded with little _uh_ noises, and leaned his head on Kota’s collarbone, now digging his nails into Kota’s ass. _“Please._ ”

* * *

 _“Please,”_ Kenny whispered; although he was the one with his hands on their cocks, he was so gone, it was like he was begging his own body for release, just saying whatever came to his lips. “ _Kota. Please. Fuck. Yes,_ ” Kenny said in time with Kota’s thrusts, now twisting his hand over the heads, both of them speeding up hungrily. It only took a few more moments, and Kenny sank his teeth into Kota’s shoulder as he felt the ringing rush in his head and the jolt through every muscle in his body. He felt outside of himself, hearing himself make a little high pitched gasp as he came, followed by a softly murmured “ _Kota…_ ” that sounded almost like a sob.

* * *

A softly murmured _“Kota…”_ that sounded almost like a sob punctuated a long string of beautiful sounds. That, along with the feeling of Kenny’s cock pulsing against his, and the sight and feeling of hot wetness spilling all over his cock set Kota off too, teeth clenched, forehead pressed against Kenny’s, whole body shuddering, still watching as he came onto Kenny’s hand and stomach.

The whole thing had lasted a hilariously short amount of time, but Kota could not care about that. That feeling he'd agonized about was there the moment they began, like it had never left; so obvious and almost mundane that he almost wondered why he’d been worried at all. _The truest thing I’ve ever known._ There was love. It was still there, and it felt even stronger and more exciting; it would be a thrill to explore it all, along with bigger bodies and wiser hearts. Kenny ran both hands under the robe along Kota’s thighs, streaking cum on one, and Kota found he liked it; a very physical reminder of their reconnection. Kenny smiled up at him, that same shy one from so many years ago, the one that had never really gone away. Kota loved that smile, loved that it was _his,_ it was _for him_ only _,_ that that particular smile would never have existed without him. He kissed Kenny’s upper lip, and teeth, and lower lip, until Kenny finally kissed him back, and they were both smiling between joyfully grateful kisses. Still dazed, Kenny slumped against Kota's chest, sighing like he had been bested. “I love you,” he said, muffled against Kota’s shoulder.

“I know,” Kota said, immediately wincing again, realizing he’d meant _I can tell by the way you touch me_ but probably sounded like _oh neat._ Kenny laughed loudly, though, catching Kota off guard.

“Ha! Oh god, I’m so glad you remembered that!” He threw his arms around Kota’s waist gratefully.

“What? Remembered what?” This was not a good time to ask him to remember anything.

“The Han Solo thing! Our first time, in the shower, you…” he finally looked at Kota’s puzzled face. “You still haven’t seen _Star Wars,_ have you,” he said, not a question.

“No? What?” Kota giggled in sleepy confusion, and Kenny’s shoulders shook with laughter.

“That’s it, Buu-san, you don’t get to make the same accidental joke twice,” Kenny said lazily, laying his face back onto Kota’s shoulder. “You’ll get it once you see _The Empire Strikes Back_. I’m going to _force_ you to watch those movies.” Kenny cackled ridiculously and kissed Kota on the cheek, smiling. “That was a good joke I just made.” He held Kota’s gaze intensely, and waved his fingers like he was doing magic, then said “you are going to laugh at my good jokes,” as though it were a command. He continued laughing, and waved his fingers again. “That was a good joke too.”

“Uh huh.” Kota knew nothing about _Star Wars,_ but he was very familiar with the low likelihood that Kenny’s bad jokes would somehow become good jokes. He sighed and climbed off of Kenny, heading to the bathroom to grab a towel, remembering the _that-just-happened_ feeling he’d had that first time, years ago, reveling in how sweet it was to feel it again.

* * *

“I turned off the shower, Ibutan,” Kenny called after him, wanting to stay in the moment, hoping to remind him of the first time they were ever together like this.

“So you said, Kenny-tan,” Kota laughed a little as he said it.

Kenny remembers the _first_ time Kota had called him that, grateful that he never really stopped feeling his chest squeeze when he heard it. “I wasn’t going to fall for that trick again,” he said, trying not to get too emotional.

“It’s cute that you think I couldn’t get you into the shower if I wanted to,” Kota called back, and Kenny didn’t need to see him to know he had that one goofy smile on his face; it was evident in his voice.

“It’s cute that _you_ think I don’t know every single one of your tricks by now,” Kenny said, although he was fairly certain Kota could get him to do just about anything.

“You absolutely do not and will never, but I was thinking I’d just ask you?” Kota said, emerging from the bathroom and tossing a towel to Kenny.

 _God I love you._ Kenny shook his head, admitting defeat, as he wiped off his stomach. “Diabolical, Buu-san, you’re made of pure evil, do you know that?”

“Mhm.” Kota smiled sweetly.

“Ah, but I could have defeated you by leaving the shower on; I know this.” Kota dutifully affected a look of stunned betrayal. “I was merciful, though,” Kenny continued, “because that would have made you so worried about wasting water that you couldn’t fully focus on—“

Kota interrupted by gently knocking Kenny back onto the bed with a fierce hug, laughing in embarrassed agreement at how well Kenny knew him. He deliberately and annoyingly wrapped his arms around Kenny’s head, pulling him to his chest, planting little kisses into his curls. “I love you,” he said, patting Kenny’s hair as though to shush him.

Kenny’s face was in Kota’s armpit but he still managed the obvious, muffled reply. “I know.” He squirmed his head enough so he could breathe, and wrapped his arms around Kota’s waist. Both of them were asleep within a few moments.

* * *

* * *

A few nights later, in New Orleans, they’d won their match, and Kenny beamed at Kota, looking happier and less anxious than he ever had. Now that they were really _together_ again in every sense, both of them felt boundless, unstoppable energy. Kenny, in his happiness, couldn’t resist teasing a defeated Flip Gordon. Nobody liked Flip, and even Flip knew it—he was only there to fill in for Trent Beretta, Chuck Taylor’s usual tag team partner. When the Golden Lovers beat Flip and Chuck, Trent was immediately there, injuries and all, to attend to his best friend. “This,” Kenny told Flip mockingly, “is what friendship looks like,” implying that Flip didn’t know, because he didn’t have any friends. He probably didn’t. The crowd laughed. Then Kenny turned and smiled at Kota, who couldn’t help but smile back gratefully. Kenny slid his arm around Kota’s shoulders. _Skin on skin._ “And this is what _love_ looks like.” The crowd cheered.

 _I know,_ Kota thought.

 


	13. Superkick Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny's stubbornly hurt after the events of Supercard of Honor. Kota's emotions are confusing even to him. They have two conversations that are about the Young Bucks but also kind of about everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this takes place after Supercard of Honor, the second part is a later time. Both of these scenes were depicted on episodes of Being the Elite, with embellishments, of course. And Hoshi is back! I mean, Hoshi's never left of course, but she's back in this story.
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>  **Chapter word count:** 3.8k  
>  **Chapter rating:** G

* * *

 

Kota closes the door with his normal gentle softness, which is only notable in contrast to his fiery aggression a moment ago. Kenny buries his face in his hands, and he can feel Kota resume his place in the chair next to him. Kota doesn’t say anything, but Kenny knows he must be a little shaken; confrontation outside the context of a wrestling ring makes him anxious, feels wrong to him. Kenny wishes he were more thankful that Kota crossed that line for him, but he can’t brute force his regret into gratitude as he knows he should. He wants to thank Kota, more than usual, at least, but all that comes out is, “I know, I know. You were right.”

“I wasn’t going to say that. You know I’m not like that.”

Kenny _does_ know that, but Kota’s shining goodness is the last thing he needs to feel bad about right now, even as he looks up to see the concern on his partner’s face that he knew would be there, but doesn’t deserve. Kenny can’t believe Cody _beat_ him. And he’s even more astounded about who enabled it. And to have it all end just like that, with Kota forcing Matt and Nick out the door, feels like a sickening nightmare, and Kenny wishes he had the remove to laugh at the bitter irony of Kota being the one protecting his heart from the Jacksons, when for years they tirelessly held him back from breaking himself against the enormity of Kota’s absence. “You know. I really feel like I was done letting the Bullet Club drag me down, but I never wanted to be done with _them._ ”

Kota looks at him skeptically, and takes his hand, but doesn’t say anything.

“Thanks for getting them out of there. I didn’t have the heart to do it.”

Kota sighs, almost sounds annoyed. “You told them to leave and they didn’t. You told Matt not to touch you, and he did. I don’t want to be involved in this Bullet Club stuff, but I can’t watch someone treat you like that.” Kenny can’t help his heart fluttering a little, knowing Kota’s protective of him, enough to defend him, enough to piss people off. _I’ll never deserve you, Ibutan._ Kota’s silent, measuring his words. “But,” he begins carefully, "Kenny, I made them leave because _you_ wanted them to go. I was watching; it _was_ an accident and Cody _did_ trick them. They were here to try to talk to you.”

Kenny believes him, hell, he believed Matt when he said it, too. He can’t quite articulate why he’s so mad, still. “Why does that bother _you_? You don’t like them.”

Kota instantly goes from annoyed to agitated. “Why does that bother me?” He breathes deeply, like he’s trying to calm down enough to say what he needs to without losing it, and Kenny’s suddenly _scared_ ; he couldn't survive Kota being upset with him too, not after everything that's happened today _._ “I can’t imagine why it would bother me to see you turn your back on people who really care about you, convincing yourself _you_ were wronged, _throwing them away_ so you don’t have to admit that _you_ treated them badly.” His voice cracks a little. "Why would it matter to _me_ if you were someone who had the balls to do the work of actually fixing a relationship?” Kota doesn’t really have much of an angry mode, Kenny knows; he’s in tears because fury almost immediately crumbles into despair, for him, and he was already part of the way there. _As if this weren’t awful enough already._ “Do you have any guesses, Kenny?”

Kenny doesn’t really need to be informed that he continues to be the same shitty person who hurt Kota three years ago, and he could have lived his life without hearing Kota say it so succinctly. Kenny’s not so oblivious; he knows Kota has a big heart that makes him do stupid things, like moonsault off balconies, or believe that Kenny could ever be someone worth his time. Kenny just sits there, thinking _why are you still here?_ but realizes… “you’re wrong.” He says it quietly, like he didn’t expect it to come out of his mouth; he’d agreed with Kota a few seconds ago. But as he turns over in his head what he just said, he feels it more and more strongly.

Kota’s not mad. His shoulders slump and he fixes his eyes on Kenny, ready to be wrong.

It almost breaks Kenny’s heart; the way Kota’s demeanor instantly changes. _He wants so badly to be wrong._ A different version of Kenny wouldn’t have argued with Kota’s reading, he’d have just assumed it was true, because he hated himself. He still hates himself a lot of the time, but the stakes are too high, now: Kota’s back, Kota believes in him. He knows Kota’s desperately looking for reasons to trust him again, for paths to confidently love him again. _I can’t fuck this up. The greatest gift I’ve ever been given._ “I don’t really care about the kicks or costing me the match. It’s just… they couldn’t choose between me and Cody. After ten years of friendship, they listened to _him_ when he told them how selfish I was. They couldn’t be happy for me finding you again, they couldn’t even see how happy it makes me.” He squeezes Kota’s hand, and Kota squeezes back. Kenny almost laughs at himself for the jolt of confidence it gives him. “They only cared about how _they_ felt. I tried to make it right, and they didn’t even talk to me. They just let Cody whisper in their ears. All they would have had to do was talk to me.”

“That’s why I was so angry at them,” Kota says simply. He hasn’t been around, he doesn’t feel the same complex feelings Kenny does. _With all this Bullet Club bullshit, he only cares if I’m happy or not. And I wasn’t. It was just clearer to him than it was to me._

“Right,” Kenny says. “I don’t think this is like…” even now, it still kills him to say “ ..what I did to you. I see why you think it is, and maybe a different version of me would have thought so too, but it’s not. Back then, I was in their shoes, except it was the whole Bullet Club whispering in my ear, and my own insecurity. So I’m not turning my back on them, Kota. I’m doing what _you_ should have done three years ago, and cutting self-centered people out of my life before they can hurt me even more.”

Kota thinks a moment. “No,” he says simply, and he sounds just as surprised as Kenny was about his own words a few moments ago. “You can’t.”

“Excuse me?” Kenny’s almost angry, and he doesn’t quite know why. “What are you going to do about it? You don’t even _like_ them.” He’s trying not to harp on that, but it _does_ sting that Kota doesn’t like Matt and Nick, even if it is completely understandable, and completely Kenny’s fault.

Kota breathes a patient breath. “But _you_ love them, Kenny,” Kota says flatly. “That matters to me.” Kenny fights a little smile. “Don’t forget what we talked about, in that hotel room the night we…” he trails off. Reunited? Breathed again for the first time in years? Kenny nods; he doesn’t know what to call it either. Kota sighs. “Think back to when you… when…” he looks down awkwardly; “...three years ago,” he finishes. _When I made the biggest mistake of my life._ “I’m sure you remember _why_ you were being so self-centered, at the time.” Kota’s clearly trying to get him to see something.

 _I was so unhappy without you that I couldn’t see beyond my own hurt. Oh._ “Yeah,” is all Kenny can say. _I hate it when you’re right._

“I didn’t cut you out of my life back then, because I hoped…” Kota sounds suddenly like he’s about to cry. “Because some things are important enough to swallow your pride for.” That feels like a knife in Kenny’s lung, but he knows Kota didn’t mean it like that. “But regardless of what _I_ should have done, or what _you_ shouldn’t have done. Before all of that, what _we_ should have done was actually admitted we were making mistakes.” Kota stares at him fiercely, eyes full of emotion.

No one can call him on his bullshit the way Kota can. For one thing, he lashes out at everyone else, acts like their criticism is an insult—it’s pretty much instinct, at this point. He’s too sensitive; it’s how he’s had to survive. Even now with Kota, it’s taking all of his willpower not to say something vicious, wound Kota into silence so they can fucking stop having this conversation. Because Kota’s right, and Kenny knows it: both he and the Bucks have treated each other badly, ignored each other’s faults when it suited them, then focused on meaningless mistakes to avoid admitting it. But he’s got layers of hurt built up, and he’s so used to using them like armor to charge through everything, so he doesn’t have to feel the scorching sting of his own failures, his own mistakes. He knows very well how dangerous that would be, how easily could break him.  _What if I admit I'm wrong, and they just leave?_

Kota’s still staring at him with _those fucking eyes,_ piercing and demanding, but so pretense-free and honest and raw. Kota can’t be anything but that, and Kenny’s always loved and envied him for it. “You’re going to do what _we_ should have done, Kenny-tan. At least try.” His tone is stern, but Kenny knows him well enough to hear the plea taking shelter in that command. Kota _needs_ him to be better than this.

“Maybe you’re right,” is all Kenny can say, he can’t bring himself to tell Kota how absolutely correct he actually is. _I’ll never be what you deserve, Ibutan._ Kenny shakes his head slowly.

“No.” Kota says, squeezing his hand _hard_. “You always shake your head like that when you’re falling back into hating yourself instead of being an adult and dealing with problems.” Kota’s anxious, he plainly knows how delicate the ground he’s treading on could be.

Kenny hates himself for being so fragile that Kota’s scared to tell him the truth, made even worse by Kota being brave enough to say it anyway. _You really do love me, you idiot._ He can’t bear how well Kota knows him, how much Kota can see. It’s too much, right now. Not when his friends just let him lose. Not when he knows they couldn’t talk to him because he wouldn’t let them through his stubborn self-pity. He holds Kota’s hand with both of his, bringing it to his lips, softly kissing his fingers, then letting go as he stands up. His legs are wobbly, his head hurts, and his heart feels like it’s on the floor. “I’m sorry, Ibutan,” is all he can bring himself to say. He grabs his bag and starts heading for the shower. “I’ll see you at the hotel.” He can’t look back at Kota as he heads into the hallway, alone.

* * *

“Of course I’m honored, but shouldn’t Matt and Nick—“

“No.” Kenny breathes in, then out, looking like he can’t find the right words. He leaves the practice ring and sits on the apron. This has now become a capital-c Conversation. Kota leans on the ropes. “No. They don’t want to be there, isn’t that obvious? And even if they did, It has to be you.” He can’t even look at Kota as he says it, as if even _he_ would rather the Young Bucks be in his corner; like he’s contractually obligated to have Kota there instead.

Kota’s mind has been reeling for the past couple of days, since Okada called Kenny out, challenging him to another title defense. Kenny accepted, of course, and Kota knows he didn’t really have a choice, but he’s still less excited for Kenny than he wants to be. He doesn’t want to admit that the tiniest part of him doesn’t want to watch Kenny win, put on the belt he couldn’t bear to see Kota have. He doesn’t like the ugly feeling, like he’s a sidekick, a valet. There to make sure Kenny has water. He knows Kenny appreciates him, but he can’t chase away the resentment. And they haven’t talked about it, but the fear is there, unspoken: worst of all, if Kenny wins, the Golden Lovers fall by the wayside. “Kenny. Why can’t it be all of us? Don’t be silly. You’d win even if that guy in the bear suit were in your corner.” Conflicted as he is, he still believes that with all his heart. Kenny’s the best in the whole world. Kota wonders miserably if _he_ ever could have been.

“Listen to me, Ibusan,” Kenny says, suddenly stern and formal. “It. Has. To. Be. You. Only you. I can’t win without you.”

“I’m certain you can.”  _Why do you have to twist the knife like this?_

Kenny sighs, still seeming like having Kota in his corner is more an obligation than a good luck charm. He looks down at his hands. “I’m not stupid, Ibutan. I know I took this away from you. I can never take that back. I’d give anything if I could. So I need you to be there. It’s the only way I’ll feel okay about winning.”

“I don’t follow.”

“If you’re there, Ibutan. You could… you could…” Kenny sounds like he’s fighting tears. “You could do what I did to you.”

In the confusing soup of emotions Kota’s feeling right now, that’s clear, bright anger, and he’s almost glad for it. “Why would you say that Kenny? What the _fuck_? You know I would never—“

“Yes. Of course I know. But ever since then, I’ve been thinking about how I could ever look you in the face if I won what I took from you. How I could ever feel like there wasn’t an asterisk, like ‘I won, _but_...' And how sorry I am… I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’ll never stop feeling sorry. So I have to… I have to show you I’m for real, Ibutan.” He grabs Kota’s hand, but still can’t look at him. “I’m laying this at your feet. You see? You could take it from me, if you wanted to. Like I did to you.”

Kota can’t believe what he’s hearing. “So then you want me there as a test of my loyalty? You’re not making this sound any better.”

“No!” Kenny says, clearly frustrated that he’s not getting across what he needs to. “Ugh. No. It’s for me. Not just as a comfort, to see you when I look in my corner, although that’s going to be huge…” Kenny gives Kota a searching look, and Kota nods, still angry but hoping Kenny will dig himself out of whatever this is. “Kota… It’s… I’m going to be the one in the ring, but I’m putting myself at your mercy. Not for you. For me. I don’t know how else to show you how sorry I am… how much I need you. If you’re there with me…” Kenny seems full of emotion, and Kota feels guilty for how little he feels. “I can never undo what I did to you. But it won’t be a real win, in my mind, unless I use it to… I guess, try to make up for what happened. I can't lose if I feel like I’m fighting to show you I’m better than I was.” He rubs his face, fighting tears.

Kota feels like he should be touched by this, but all he feels is _thank you for your pity_ . There are a lot of moving parts to the tenuous peace he's made with what was very likely his only shot at that belt, and that involves the understanding that even though Kenny was the catalyst, _he_ was the one who left for two years to try to forget it all. But at the core of it all was heartbreak over something he’d tried desperately to preserve. At the core of it all, he wouldn’t have left if Kenny hadn’t done what he did. It’s a flimsy peace, at best, and he doesn’t need Kenny picking it all apart in a misguided attempt at an apology. “Why not use it to show Matt and Nick that?”

Kenny stares at him, and Kota knows he’s asked a dumb question. “I don’t think they want to hear it right now.” Kota disagrees, but Kenny hasn’t listened to him on that point yet, and he probably won't start now. “They’re my best friends. But you, Ibutan…” he puts both hands on Kota’s knees. “You’re my Golden Lover.” Kenny giggles as he says it, but Kota knows he means it. “That’s why it can’t be all of you. It’s a message for _you_.” Kenny looks down again. “Do you want to be there with me or not?” he asks quietly.

“Yes, of course, Kenny. I’ll be there.” He’s got time to work through his tangled feelings. The truest part of all of this is that he wants to be there for Kenny. No matter what.

“Okay,” Kenny says calmly, and cracks a small smile, grabbing Kota’s hand and pulling him down to kiss him on the cheek. “I want everyone to know that even if I win, you’re still my partner.” Kota gets a jolt of anxiety in his chest; how could they ever begin to discuss this, after all they went through to be together again? Kenny sighs. “I want _you_ to know that most of all.”

“We won’t be the Golden Lovers anymore, if you win,” Kota says, and it's the tiniest bit of a relief to say it out loud, finally.

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about that,” Kenny says. Kota never thought he hadn’t. “At least that’ll be one comfort, if I lose.” He pauses. “Do you want me to back out?” Kenny says it earnestly, and Kota can’t tell if he’s seriously offering.

“No! You’d better not! Would you actually, if I wanted you to?” Kota’s stunned.

“Well, heh,” Kenny looks sheepish. “I’d at least seriously consider it. But I knew you wouldn’t want me to.”

“Good.” Kota smiles, both because Kenny knows he’s supported, and because he’s relieved to look at his own feelings and find that Kenny's right.

“But, hey. Ibutan. I know, it sucks, we might not get to tag anymore. But if there’s one thing I learned while we were apart, it’s that wherever I go, whatever I do, no matter how hard I try to deny it… I’ll always be a Golden Lover.”

“You’re so cheesy. But me too, of course.”

Kenny laughs a bit before looking distracted again. “You’re all I have left. The Bullet Club is gone, my friends are gone… and Matt and Nick…” he trails off and casts a glance at that stupid box he’s been carrying everywhere. It’s beat up from being in his bag, in the back of the car, next to the bed, wherever Kenny goes. It’s been in Kota’s apartment so many times that it’s Hoshi’s new favorite bed; it’s sunken in on the top from her laying on it, and Kenny being too much of a sucker to make her move.

Kota is sick of arguing with him on this, but he can’t bear Kenny feeling so isolated, especially when it’s so in his power not to feel that way. “What do you think is in there? How could it be anything bad?”

Kenny picks up the box. “I know there’s probably nothing bad in there. I just… it’s too much.”

 _It’s only too much because you’re making it too much._ “It’s eating you up. They said it was about our conversation that night in the hotel room, right? So?”

Kenny shakes his head defeatedly; a gesture Kota’s beyond tired of by now.

“You and I forgave each other,” Kota says. It’s mostly true. Forgiveness is a process, not a singular event, he’s learned. He hopes Kenny’s learned it too.

Kenny nods, but drops the package onto the apron. “I can’t yet.”

Kota hates watching Kenny tie himself into knots over this, he wishes Kenny would just open it, just to get it over with. It doesn’t even matter what’s inside. But he doesn’t push; it’s always hard to convince Kenny that he’s loved and wanted, when he’s convinced himself he’s not. Kota lets the subject drop, and again watches as Kenny sadly puts down the package he’s been obsessing over. 

* * *

Later that night, while Kenny’s in the shower, Kota finally feels he’s built up the nerve to do what he knows he has to. He takes out his phone and snaps a picture of Hoshi sleeping in her new favorite spot. It takes him a few minutes to crudely piece together the English he wants, but he taps out a message to send along with it. _“He won’t open it. Thank you for the cat bed. Please be there if he wins. Please.”_ He doesn’t know where Nick is, right now, but he pushes Send before he can think better of it.

Nick writes him back almost immediately. _“He's stubborn. He wants us there if he wins?”_   

Kota looks up “stubborn.” _“Yes. Both sentences, yes.”_

_“Haha. We will be there. We will all open the box together. Gomenasai, Hoshi.”_

_"_ _Thank you very much.”_ Kota goes to his translation app to be sure he gets the next sentence right. _“He will be so happy to have his brothers there.”_

_“We thought he was angry. Thank you so much for telling us. We will be there to celebrate WHEN he wins.”_

Kota smiles and puts his phone in his pocket as he hears Kenny turn the shower off. He decides telling Kenny about this conversation would be much more pressure than Kenny can deal with right now, but he’s never been great at keeping secrets from Kenny. Even good surprises. But he will keep this one, and now he wants Kenny to win even more. His phone buzzes.

 _“You are a very good brother-in-law.”_  “Brother” Kota knows, but he’s not sure what “in-law” adds to the meaning. He looks it up, and he feels a warmth he wishes he could make Kenny feel, to let him know how much Matt and Nick love him.

_“You too.”_


	14. Budokan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Golden Lovers faced each other on August 6th, 2012, after three and half years of being a tag team.
> 
> Now they're about to face each other again, six years later, same place. 
> 
> Their first Budokan match was the beginning of the end, in some ways, and what happened that night has colored everything that's happened between them since then, most recently and vividly, Kenny's title win at Dominion in June.
> 
> They've had six years to learn the lessons. It's time to figure out how to apply them so Budokan 2018 isn't a new beginning of a new end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (SEE WHAT I DID THERE?)
> 
> This one's from Kota's point of view. Kenny's perspective on Budokan is in chapter six, so it might be cool to have read that, although you definitely don't need to in order to understand this chapter, but there are ~dramatic parallels to that chapter, because it's me.
> 
> The format should be obvious, but it's like... a lot of reflection, interspersed with flashbacks from Dominion, followed by light boning.
> 
> I'm sorry it's so long! I kept trying to split it into separate chapters, but it turns out Budokan is a pretty strong common thread. Thanks as always for reading!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  **Chapter word count:** 6.2k  
>  **Chapter rating:** E (I'm rewarding you for reading the whole thing.)

_“If you win tomorrow, how do you want to celebrate?” Kota is terrible at planning things and Kenny is terrible at celebrations, but the ritual of asking feels important. Kenny’s sitting on the little couch in their hotel room reading some dumb self-help book, and Kota sits down and swings his legs over Kenny’s lap._

_Kenny looks up, arching an eyebrow. “Buu-san, are you coming on to me?” Kenny leans closer to Kota, making an exaggerated flirty face. He’s embarrassingly ridiculous and Kota loves him so much._

_Kota looks down at his phone in mock disinterest. “No. Would you like me to?”_

_Kenny puts the book down on Kota’s knees, turning to stare at him. “Of course not, I was going to say that would be a little forward of you. Inappropriate, honestly.”_

_“Yeah, that’s why I wasn’t doing it,” Kota says, pointedly not looking up from his phone._

_“Good,” Kenny says. “Glad we don’t have to deal with *that*.”  He smiles._

_Kota looks up at him now, smiles back. “So what do you want to do if you win?”_

_“Disneyland!” Kenny clasps his hands in anticipatory excitement._

_“Liar.” Kota knows Kenny hates crowded places with a lot of outdoors-ness to them, but he takes a moment to fantasize about all the stupid mischief they could get into in a theme park. Maybe someday he’ll make the case to Kenny._

_“Okay, really, what I want is to go back to our hotel and take a long shower. You can join me, but no funny business, obviously, as we just discussed.” Kota nods in solemn agreement. “Then we’ll get a beer.”_

_“Since when do you drink beer? Or at all?”_

_“I don’t. I said we’ll get *a* beer. I don’t like beer but I really like beer-flavored kisses.”_

_“How do you plan to get them?” Kota gives him a skeptical look._

_Kenny grins that goofy grin he gets when he thinks he’s funny. “I’m debating between saying ‘I’ll figure something out’ and ‘like this.’” His lips are on Kota’s before Kota can tell him that neither of those is funny. The unexpectedly intense way the kiss happens, slow and soft, like every movement is a tiny chance to adore and appreciate, is worth the lost comeback. When they part, Kota keeps his eyes closed for a few more seconds; just mentally taking in that sweetness a little longer._

_“What’s wrong?"_

_The sudden vulnerability and deep feeling must have made his face drop or something, because it takes Kota a moment to realize he’s even having a negative emotion. “I’m still thinking about what we talked about before. If you win, it won’t make sense for us to be the Golden Lovers anymore.”_

_Kenny laughs softly, puts a hand to Kota’s cheek, and just stares for a long moment, then sighs. “I keep thinking about it too, but when you said it like that, just now, I realized something, I think.” He grabs Kota’s hand. “It has never once made sense for us to be the Golden Lovers. Ever. I was nobody and you were DDT’s star. They wanted us to fight each other. We begged them to not only hire me, but make us a tag team, cut down your singles matches.” Kenny laughs to himself. “And you know we were really, really good. Far too good to be a tag team, even then.”_

_Kenny’s not wrong at all. Kota’s always had a tough time being honest with himself about his talent. He’s very aware of it, knows that people talk about him using phrases like “of all time” and “in the world,” but it never sticks. It’s never been something he could internalize, let alone externalize. But when Kenny puts it in terms of “we,” Kota can’t argue. Kenny is undeniably capital-G Great. And since he can’t deny that they’re even better together, Kota has no choice but to admit that he’s probably just about as good. He meets Kenny’s gaze, nods and smiles._

_Kenny sighs again. “Remember how scared we were that if we put on a great match at Budokan, they’d keep us apart? We stayed together for two more years after that. We made that happen.” Kota doesn’t want to think about Budokan, or how difficult those two years were, but he takes Kenny’s point. “It makes even less sense for us to be the Golden Lovers now. You know that. People still don’t understand why we did it.”_

_“We had to,” Kota says, so much meaning packed into that simple declaration._

_“Exactly,” Kenny says, “the fans love the Golden Lovers, but the Golden Lovers would never happen, now or then, without us forcing people to make room for it. Like you said, we had to. We *have* to, present-tense. That won’t go away just because I’m champion.”_

_Kota nods. He still feels terrible; they’re still going to have far fewer opportunities to be a team if Kenny wins. But_ _Kenny’s unquestioning faith in them is about as comforting as anything could be._

_“And if I win, I want you to put the belt on me, okay? I wouldn’t be here without you. Literally or figuratively. My story—and yours, I think—our stories don’t exist without the story of us.”_

_Kota has complex feelings about Kenny winning, but he could never disagree with that._

* * *

After that match where they were on opposing tag teams, Kota feels like he remembers every second of the metro ride home, how agonizingly long and tortuous it had felt. They’d never channeled their emotional bond into magic like that, and as they sat silently, both coiled and counting the stops until theirs, he felt like he could feel the blood running through his veins. He remembers pressing his thigh against Kenny’s next to him, hands clasped firmly in front of him, wanting to fuck until he couldn’t move anymore. When they finally _finally_ got to Kota’s apartment, they’d done exactly that, desperate and charged; the match heightened their connection too intensely to do anything other than consummate it.

When they fought at Budokan—now, the _first_ time they fought at Budokan—they’d gotten home, and Kenny had tried to pretend everything was okay.  It wasn’t. Kota had made efforts to give Kenny space, to stay out of his way, but the worst part of that was not _talking_ to each other, especially not talking about their match.

And it had broken his heart, because he’d never been so wildly in love as he was after that match. When they left Budokan, Kota felt like he was floating, and an embarrassingly small percentage of the reason was his win. Kenny had been amazing. Absolutely _breathtaking_ and awe-inspiring; Kota didn’t know how he was able to pay attention to his own wrestling, captivated as he was by Kenny’s talent and strength.

As he'd climbed the scaffolding to the balcony—the one thing they’d planned about the whole match—all that repeated in his head was _I love you_ ; the thrilling way they were fighting highlighted every single thing he loved about their incredible connection. He felt like the _I love you_ radiated from him as he got ready for a jump he could only do because the person below, his best friend, the love of his life, was there to catch him. By the end of the match, Kota was totally overcome with gratitude and admiration, and when Kenny tried to sit up after the final pin, Kota remembers pulling him down into his lap in front of god and everyone, to frantically, reverently whisper _I love you oh my god I love you._ He wanted to know Kenny felt it too, that fire, the excitement of what they’d just done together, and what had enabled them to do it.

But Kenny didn’t speak then, and couldn’t find words for at least a day afterward. He pretended to be exhausted from the match, but he’d always been horrible at lying to Kota, and they both knew what it really was. Kota remembers walking around feeling broken and hollowed out, like he’d fallen instead of moonsaulted from that balcony. It was what devastated him most; when they couldn’t be in sync, when he didn’t have his best friend and co-conspirator, who helped him process the world, who helped make everything a joy. That was the first time he’d felt the suffocating, untethered, aching loss that became his constant companion a few years later, when Kenny left.

He remembers how, as he’d climbed the turnbuckle for the Phoenix Splash, some tiny, foolish part of him was glad Kenny was there to see him win. He hoped, like he’d hoped that night at Budokan, that some part of Kenny was proud of him, too. And then he saw movement to his left, and there he was. Kenny, on the apron, staring up at him, and all Kota could think, again, was _I love you,_ but not in the grateful way he’d thought it at Budokan. It was a despairing _I love you;_ he could instantly see what was happening, and the _I love you_ was more like _even now, goddamn you, how could you, I love you._ He shook his head, as much at himself as at Kenny, and… and then he didn’t win.

And of course, he couldn’t get thoughts of that night out of his mind two months ago, when Kenny, who’d been so afraid of Kota surpassing him that he robbed him of his dream, won that same belt, the one he couldn’t bear to see Kota win. Kenny fought an absolutely perfect match; historically breathtaking, and throughout it, the primary thought in Kota’s mind had been, of course, _I love you._ Even when Kenny won, that was where his mind went first, but almost immediately he also felt a sick guilt at the small pangs of fiery resentment in his chest, rapidly growing and filling space, then bursting, like bubbles, whenever Kenny looked at him. Because in Kenny’s eyes was a look that said _I could only do this because I have you._

* * *

_A few minutes after the second fall, Kota’s anxiously watching Kenny from the floor. He’s flagging fast, he’s been dazzling, but he’s noticeably losing steam, and Okada’s starting to capitalize. Kenny’s getting hurt badly now, slower and slower to get up from taking hits, and Kota sees all the signs of Kenny unraveling. All he can do is watch in terror; and focus with his whole mind like he can will Kenny to get up. A few times, the helpless way Kenny looks at him, he thinks maybe he actually did. He’s terrified, pacing but trying not to let Kenny see his concern._

_He looks up and sees Gedo staring at his hands, and becomes aware that he can hear the commentators chattering. They’re talking about the towel that's been in his hand the whole match, he’s been wringing it in agitated nervousness. Now is the first time he's realized there's any significance to him holding a towel at all._

_You idiot, you really love me, you just trusted I’d be here, he thinks as he looks up at Kenny, who truly looks like an angel with the lights of Osaka-Jo Hall like a starry sky above and behind him. For some reason Kota's mind flashes to the balcony dive at Budokan; in retrospect, he realizes he jumped without ever looking to see if Kenny was there to catch him. Kenny was there, of course—Kota had been so certain of it that it hadn’t occurred to him until just this moment, here on the floor in Osaka-Jo hall, that he should have thought to check._

_I could only do it because you were there with me._

_Kenny never once casts a glance at the towel in Kota’s hand._

_When he wins, as Kota knew he would, Kenny gives Kota the belt to put on him, and just for a second, Kota hates himself for thinking bitterly that this is the longest he’s ever gotten to hold it._

* * *

He’s sick when he thinks about six years ago, the night before Budokan. Just like now, he’d hated that they had to face each other, but he was also able to see Budokan as a chance to have the time of his life with his best friend. It kills him to think about how he’d stubbornly ignored Kenny’s nerves, cheerfully told him he was going to do great. Even then, some part of him knew that Kenny wasn’t nervous about the match, he was nervous because he felt inadequate next to Kota. He was nervous because if he lost, he’d feel like Kota was unequivocally better and didn’t need him. He thinks about how Kenny had pulled away from his touch and tried to sleep on the couch, before defeatedly coming back to bed, curling into a ball with his back to Kota.

He told himself it was because Kenny was a stickler about sleeping enough, which at the time he was; it’s been a slow leak of sad realization over the years, as he’s forced himself to be honest about the whole truth. Kota had deliberately, willfully avoided it, because it was too much, it felt like a house of cards—if he’d acknowledged it, there was nowhere to go but away from each other. He wishes he could go back in time and grab his slightly-younger self by the collar, tell him to face it. _You’re going to lose him either way._

Now, Kota identifies more with six-years-ago Kenny than he ever wanted to. Kota’s excuse at the time was that Kenny _shouldn’t_ have been jealous; he was every bit as talented as Kota. Kota stridently insisted they were equals, even to himself—he actually truly thought Kenny was _better_ , most of the time.

Now he knows it’s not that simple. Now he hears Kenny say the same things about him, while he’s getting interviewed for TV and magazines, and he knows Kenny believes it wholeheartedly. But now he’s painfully aware that believing didn’t make it true then, and it doesn’t make it true now—both times, only one of them has had the opportunities, popularity, and gold to prove it.

When Kota was champ, he brought Kenny along with every opportunity he got; he wanted Kenny by his side as often as he could possibly manage. Now Kenny’s doing the same for him, and as much fun as they’re having together, there’s a constant dull ache in his chest; he hurts for himself and for six-years-ago Kenny. It feels like charity.  It feels like a consolation prize. He can see the genuine love in Kenny’s eyes, as Kenny must have been able to see in his back then, but it’s hard not to feel like Kenny is the only person who thinks he’s worth anything. _My Ibutan_ , Kenny says as often as he pleases now, in front of crowds and cameras; unrestrained puppy love, even after all the years they’ve known each other. Kota loves it, of course, but sometimes it makes him feel patronized in a way he knows Kenny absolutely does not mean, and would never feel.

It’s lonely. He hates the thought that he must have made Kenny feel this way. He hates even more that he probably would have seen it back then if he hadn’t been afraid to look.

It’s what’s keeping him awake now, when he needs to be as rested as possible for their match tomorrow. He thinks about how he felt this way before Dominion, and how Kenny doubtless did before the last time at Budokan. He even felt it today—they’d had the preview tag match. It wasn’t so bad, it was kind of fun, even, until Tama ruined it, anyway. But they just made the whole thing into a joke. They had to. It’s just too hard to get into that mindset, where they’re capable of hurting each other. Even knowing it was just going to be silly, Kota's heart was pounding when he and Kenny were in the ring across from each other. He’s never been able to watch Kenny in the ring without falling in love every few seconds _._ It’s going to kill him tomorrow.

Kota always likes to sleep in his own bed before big matches, whenever he can, which is never often enough. It's centering in a way few other things are, waking up in his space, everything familiar and safe. Kenny _also_ likes to sleep in Kota’s bed before big matches, just far enough away from his own life to forget about daily worries, yet familiar, warm, nurturing all the same. And tomorrow’s the biggest match there could possibly be, even if it’s not the most important of either of their careers. Sleeping in his own bed is not helping him, tonight.  _I hate this so much._

He flops onto his other side, more than done with all of this, just wishing for sleep. He hears the blankets shifting beside him and feels Kenny stir, and he instinctively tenses up, to avoid waking Kenny, maybe.

But Kenny must have felt him tense up, because he moves closer and slips an arm around Kota’s waist. “You need sleep,” he says, nuzzling his forehead into the back of Kota’s neck and curling around him. “I want a fair fight.” Kota kind of pretends to laugh, and Kenny slides his other arm under Kota’s neck, finding his hand and interlacing their fingers together. He plants soft lazy kisses between Kota’s shoulder blades. Kota feels himself relax a little. “I’m sorry, Buu-san,” Kenny says. “I’m just trying to be positive.”

Kota squeezes Kenny’s arms to his chest. “I don’t want to fight you, but I don’t want to lose.” It feels like a sad confession but as he says it, Kota realizes it’s about the most obvious thing he could say.

“Then we’re in the same boat,” Kenny says, most of the sleepiness gone from his voice, and Kota can tell he’s trying to wake up a little in case they need to have a conversation, here in the middle of the night. He squeezes Kenny’s arms again in gratitude. “We don’t do very well in different boats,” Kenny says earnestly. “I feel like I can be in any boat, as long as you’re, uh, also in the boat with me.” Kenny moves his hand to the pillow side of Kota’s face, and gently turns Kota’s head toward him. Kota’s neck is bent awkwardly, but Kenny kisses him softly and slowly, lightly running his thumb over Kota’s cheek. Kenny lets go and kisses Kota on the cheek, then the jaw, then behind his ear as he turns his head back to a comfortable position, finally settling back into nestling his face against Kota’s neck.

Kota feels so much, right now. He loves Kenny helplessly. He’s dreading tomorrow more than anything he’s dreaded in a long time. He feels guilty about where those two things crash together. What if tomorrow combines them in a way they can’t undo?

* * *

_Matt and Nick left to grab a taxi, and Kenny pulls Kota into a fierce hug. He's still wearing the belt, not wanting to take it off, and he squeezes Kota so hard that Kota feels the metal dig into his rib._

_“I’m so proud of you, Kenny-tan,” Kota says. And it's true, but it’s not the whole truth. Tonight is for celebrating, though, and he will be uncomplicated and cheerful and celebratory if it takes all the beer in Osaka to make it happen._

_Kenny cups the back of Kota’s head, stroking his hair. “Ibutan… I know you.”_

_“What?” Kota hopes Kenny isn’t trying to have A Talk. There's no way they're going to talk about anything but celebrating and how brilliant Kenny’s match was._

_"Don’t bullshit me Ibutan.” Kenny chuckles softly. “You’re terrible at hiding your feelings. And it’s okay. When you won, at Budokan… I know, okay?”_

_Kota can't help himself, if this is how Kenny wants to handle this. “Do_ _you, though?” Kota says bitterly. Last he’d checked, Kenny had just had to lose to him, not watch him win something he'd taken away. Truthfully, Kota had mostly worked through those demons, but it's hard not to hear them in the back of his mind, now, hard not to wonder if he missed his only chance. If Kenny had *made* him miss his only chance; if he’d lost it even further being so heartbroken that he spent two years trying everything to escape that reality._

_Kenny pauses, exhaling in irritation, but says, “no, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”_

_“I forgave you, Kenny, I really did.” Kota doesn't like how little control he has over the waver in his voice. “I_ _do._ _Forgive you… but…” he pauses, not knowing how to put it._

 _“But it still hurts, I’m sure,”_ _Kenny says, sliding his arms around Kota’s waist, face plastered against Kota’s shoulder. Kota just nods, it’s all he can do. It’s honest. It does hurt. “I know,” Kenny says. “Believe me, I know.” Kota braces himself for Kenny’s millionth apology, but Kenny just sways a bit to add emphasis to his hug, and says, “God, I love you. Thank you for being there for me.”_

_“Of course,” Kota says, not wanting to go any further into this than necessary. “I’m happy for you.” It’s true, even if it’s not the whole truth._

_Kenny pulls back to look Kota in the eyes, and squeezes Kota’s arms. “No. We can’t do this,” he says, with a surprising firmness. “You ignored me being jealous of you, and I was too cowardly to just talk to you about it, and look where it got us. We’re not doing that again.”_

_Kota just sighs, nodding slowly._ _Kenny hugs him again, and Kota lets his body go slack, lets Kenny hold him up this time._

_“I don’t expect you to be purely happy for me,” Kenny says quietly, lips right next to Kota’s ear. “Just… please. Don’t let it…” he burrows his face into Kota’s shoulder, unexpectedly emotional. “I still need you so much… *so* much. Just like you needed me then,” he whispers, measured, like he’s afraid of the waver in his voice. “And I was too lost in my bullshit to be there with you.” He squeezes Kota again, and kisses him softly behind the ear. “I know you might need space or time, or both, but… we can do better, this time. We’re better, this time.”_

_Kota pulls away and looks down at his hands, lost in a confusing haze of resentment and gratitude. He realizes he doesn’t want time or space. He wants to go forward. He wants to shed everything about the past that still hurts. It can’t happen all at once, but he knows now he’s ready to work for it. He looks at Kenny, who’s staring at him like he didn’t just win the most important title in the world, and all he wants is for Kota to be okay. Kota nods. “We’re better this time.”_

_Kenny grins wide and grabs Kota’s face, kissing him on the cheeks, nose, forehead. He rests Kota’s hands on the belt, and rests his hands on Kota's. “The story of us. We did it,” he says, laughing excitedly, eyes crinkling at the edges with a familiar smile that’s always been just for Kota._

_Kota waits for the sadness to hit him, waits to fake excitement so he doesn’t dampen Kenny’s joy. But the sadness doesn’t come, and he doesn’t have to fake anything. He breaks into a smile to match Kenny’s. “The story of us, and we won,” Kota agrees. He’s not talking about the belt._

* * *

“I can’t believe when I first saw you all I wanted was to fight you,” Kenny says, running his hand slowly down Kota’s chest, punctuating his words with soft sleepy kisses on Kota’s shoulder. “And then after I first fought you, all I wanted was…” he runs his hand tenderly from Kota’s stomach to his hip, curling his fingers around Kota’s hipbone. “…This. I mean, I can believe I wanted it. I can’t believe I got it.” His other hand finds Kota's dick, which is soft, and cups it protectively, not even really sexually. It's a thing he frequently does as a way to be intimately close.  He’s being loving and not pressuring, but Kota can feel that Kenny’s hard, trying respectfully not to brush his cock against Kota’s ass. Kota closes the gap anyway, savoring that pressure.

They just lay like that for a while, slowly moving against each other, and Kenny moves his fingers from Kota’s hips to stroking up between his ass cheeks, alternating pressure and softness as he presses. “While we were apart, I told myself that all I wanted was to fight you,” Kenny says, transitioning soft shoulder kisses into slow tongue kisses on Kota’s neck. He pulls Kota against him, and Kota wants as much contact as possible. “I almost believed it, even. But now I can admit,” Kota sucks in air through his teeth as Kenny knows exactly where to touch him, how hard to push, when to let up, “that what I wanted was… this.” Kota’s hard now, and Kenny strokes him in a way that makes him squirm. “I don’t want to fight. I just want to be as close to you as possible,” Kenny says, as if his meaning weren’t clear, pressing his finger hard against the overly sensitive skin.

Kota wants that too. Hoshi's curled up next to his pillow and she _mrr_ s in irritation but otherwise doesn’t move as he reaches over her to grab a bottle of lube from the nightstand. Kenny never stops kissing his shoulders, back, neck, whatever he can reach, and applying slow, circular pressure to begin opening Kota up. Kota hands him the lube, and Kenny doesn’t stop kissing him as he rubs some on his finger, slipping the tip of it in slowly. Kota braces at the sudden overwhelming contact, but relaxes, breathes, pays attention to the feeling of Kenny’s chest against his back.

Kenny takes his time, and when Kota breathes to relax his body, Kenny breathes with him, moves slowly. Kota’s tired and he knows Kenny is too, they both know this is a terrible idea when they have a match tomorrow, _the_ match tomorrow. But Kenny’s fingers are inside him, and Kenny’s face is pressed into the crook of his neck, small reverent kisses to accompany the steady, gentle pressure of fingers that know exactly where to press. _Especially_ because the match is tomorrow, being close like this feels more important than sleep. Kota tries to empty every thought from his mind except his awareness of the present, of sensations and warmth. He reaches an arm behind his head to gently hold the back of Kenny’s head and stroke his hair.

Kota gasps as Kenny’s slick fingers move slowly in and out. “Please,” he says simply, not wanting to say more for fear of becoming too aware of his thoughts again over his blissed-out body.

“We’re going to have to change the sheets after this,” Kenny says matter-of-factly.

“Oh! There’s a towel hanging on the back of the bathroom door,” Kota says, and Kenny slowly withdraws, getting up to get it. It’s not very sexy or mood-appropriate, but there’s something warm about the sweet domesticity of it, and Kota’s grateful for it, not just because the sheets will be relatively clean and they won’t have to get up right away, but because of the practical comfort of sex logistics that comes with knowing so much about a person. Kota turns a bit to give Kenny space to put down the towel, earning another annoyed noise from Hoshi, whom Kota consoles with absent-minded strokes on her cheek. Kenny sidles back up behind Kota, almost immediately thrusting all three fingers right back where they were. Kota is a little overwhelmed at first, but he laughs softly.

“Ready?” Kenny asks after a few moments, and Kota just _mmm_ s contentedly, again reaching back to lay his hand on the back of Kenny’s neck. Kenny shifts down a bit, and slowly pushes in, giving Kota time to adjust, matching his breathing to Kota’s. It’s been so many years, but Kota’s still always a little overwhelmed by how well they fit together like this, and as he breathes in, he feels like he’s breathing that in, too, the power inherent in what they are together, highlighted now, when there’s no space between them at all. Kenny hooks an arm around Kota’s chest, and rolls his hips slowly and steadily, until he’s as deep as he can go. He barely moves, just slightly rocking back and forth; he knows exactly the right angle, and Kota can’t help a little whimper each time Kenny pushes all the way in. Kota lets his eyes flutter shut, and listens to Kenny quietly gasping as he moves, face pressed into Kota’s back, absent-mindedly kissing his shoulder blade.

Kenny establishes slow rhythm, now adding a quiet, muffled “ _oh_ ” every few seconds, like he doesn’t even want to seem in control. He never really has any pretense in these moments, he gives himself over gratefully to whatever his body wants, and Kota always loves the helpless noises and shuddery movements he makes as he lets himself be fully guided by sensation and building heat. Those little desperate “ _oh_ ”s are almost too much, so Kota focuses for a moment on stroking Hoshi’s ear as she purrs contentedly, seemingly unaware of what’s happening behind her. Kenny’s hand grips Kota’s hip firmly, and his other arm is under Kota’s neck, giving him the room to run his fingers over Kota’s lips, and Kota takes them into his mouth, sucking on them eagerly, which makes Kenny’s breath hitch. “ _You feel so good,”_ he whispers defeatedly, repeating “ _so good_ ” until it melts into soft grunts, building in intensity. Kota grinds against Kenny’s hips now, wanting to be close, to be filled.

Kenny moves his hand from Kota’s hip to his cock, finally, and it sends waves of sensation into his belly. Kenny’s softly biting the back of Kota’s neck, and Kota shivers when he calmly says, “ _come for me._ ” Kota stops sucking on Kenny’s fingers and rests both of his hands on both of Kenny's, so he can squeeze Kenny’s hand and feel himself thrusting into Kenny’s grip. It only takes a few strokes before he gasps loudly, spilling all over both their hands, turning his face to the side and sloppily kissing the inside of Kenny’s wrist as he feels his whole body contract intensely. Kenny almost simultaneously sinks his teeth into Kota’s shoulder as he comes too, making a sweet, relieved sighing sound so familiar it makes Kota grin; one of his favorite sounds in the world. Kota feels all of Kenny’s muscles go pliant and relaxed, and he feels like he melts into Kenny’s arms. He lightly locks his fingers around Kenny’s as Kenny slides an arm around his waist, pulling him in close.

“Remember this tomorrow,” Kenny says, soft kisses on Kota’s neck, legs tangling together.

“You want me to be distracted so I’ll be easier to beat,” Kota says, knowing that’s not what Kenny means. He’s tired and emotional; he can admit to himself that he just wants to hear Kenny say it.

“I mean, I won’t be mad if that happens; I need all the help I can get.” Kota can hear the sleepy smile in Kenny's voice, and for once he gives into the temptation to imagine the entire world contracted down to the pillow his head is on, Kenny’s body wrapped around him, a life-sustaining-familiar voice in his ear, the air conditioner humming, and the cat rubbing her face against their clasped hands. He normally resists, because he would never want to leave. Right now, though, it’s perfect, and it feels like all he could ever need. “But, no,” Kenny continues, “when we have to hurt each other, remember this is what my hands on you should feel like.”

 _I never forget. I never forgot._ Kota remembers the videos of their match at Budokan, how painful everything looked but didn’t feel. And how clear it seemed in every exchange that their bodies felt most at home and alive when in contact with one another. Kota has always wondered whether other people could see what was so obvious to him: that even violent contact plainly displayed and celebrated its roots in gentleness and pleasure. He remembers being stunned that people could watch that match and still see him and Kenny as just friends, to him they might as well have made out in the middle of the ring, for as clear as their physical connection was in every movement.

Kota turns toward Kenny for a soft, sleepy, grateful kiss, then gets up to start cleaning up. They’re both still tired from three weeks of brutal matches every day; they don’t talk, better to get back to bed sooner.

When they get back to bed, Hoshi has relocated to Kenny’s pillow, and he just awkwardly uses part of his and part of Kota’s instead of moving her. It’s so endearing how much of a pushover he is for her; how much earnest tenderness he has for her. When he’d come back to Kota’s apartment for the first time after their reunion, he’d cried when Hoshi ran over to him, chirping excitedly and rubbing her face on his hands, knees, any part of him she could reach. She wouldn’t leave his side the whole evening, purring every time she looked at him. Kota can relate. He curls into Kenny, who again slides an arm around Kota’s chest, intertwining their legs and resting his face against Kota’s shoulder. For a while the only sound is the hum of the air conditioner working overtime to cool the room in the brutal summer heat.

* * *

_Ten days after Dominion, Kota’s alone in a hotel bed again, awake, again. It’s become a distressingly common occurrence, lately, for someone who normally sleeps as soundly as he does. Yesterday he found out he’d have to face Kenny during the G1. When they talked on the phone, there was barely anything to say, just stunned sadness. He’s had a heavy feeling in his stomach and a fog in his head ever since._

_His phone buzzes, and he knows what the text is going to be about before he even picks it up. And who it's going to be from._

_Budokan. August 11, Ibutan._

_He’s known since yesterday_ _that_ _it would happen, but now there’s a date on a calendar, and it’s real. Now it’s real and it’s happening at Budokan, where he was glad to be banned from, because he remembers it as the place where everything started to unravel, although he can admit now that the seeds were sown long before then. The building itself feels cursed to him._

_He hates typing out long texts, but he doesn’t have it in him to say this out loud:_

_\-----_

_Remember how you said ‘our stories don’t exist without the story of us’?_

_— Yeah._

_Double-edged sword._

_— The red string of fate both connects and binds, my Ibutan._

_Kenny-tan, your need to be as dramatic as humanly possible is a comforting constant in an unpredictable world._

_— I can hear you rolling your eyes from here, and it gives me life._

_— ... I hate this._

_Me too._

* * *

“Are you nervous?” He sounds small and scared, somehow; not The Champ, just Kenny.

“Yeah. Are you?”

“Very. But we’re going to be okay, right?” Whether because of exhaustion or honesty, he makes no attempt to hide the desperation in his voice.

Kota squeezes Kenny’s arms to his chest. He wants to say yes, he wants to tell Kenny it’s just a match like all the others they’ve had in the past month. They both know it’s not. “I hope so,” is the best he can do.

“Six years ago I laid awake praying I’d find a way to beat you, and feeling guilty about it,” Kenny says, and Kota has another flash of regret for his six-years-ago self. “Do you feel like that now?” He’s nervous when he says it, like he doesn’t want to be presumptuous, but he’s asking earnestly, without judgment.

“No…” Kota says, and he realizes it’s true, which is a surprise. “No. I’m just worried it’ll come between us.”

“We’re better this time,” Kenny says. “You’ve beaten me. Twice. I’m champ. We both want to win this, we both have something to prove, Ibutan…”

“… but we don’t have anything to prove to each other,” Kota finishes, and he can feel some of the tension leave his chest as he says it, replaced with a warm and fervent gratitude. “I want to win, though,” he says, just to make sure every truth is out.

“Me too,” Kenny says with a small sigh. They're silent for a long time.

“Well... meet me here tomorrow night, same time,” Kota says, lacing his fingers with Kenny’s.

"I’ll be here, I promise,” Kenny says, squeezing Kota to him. Kota closes his eyes and tries to memorize the feeling, and he can feel sleep pressing in. “Ibutan?”

“Yeah?”

“I hate that I have to fight you.”

“I hate it too.”

Kenny pauses for a long moment, then Kota can feel Kenny's cheeks move into a smile where they’re pressed against his back. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

Kota grins despite being almost asleep. “I know.”

_Our stories don’t exist without the story of us._


	15. In translation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _After the match, Kenny could hardly care that he lost, he was so awed by how expertly Kota had taken him apart. But he hadn’t thought until now what it must have cost._
> 
>  
> 
> Kota hauls Kenny backstage after their G1 match against each other. The language barrier makes it frustrating to find out why, but not the English-to-Japanese one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have... this... thing.
> 
> **Chapter word count:** 4.6k  
>  **Chapter rating:** M

Kenny wonders what his face looked like when Kota hustled them away from the press so suddenly—mid-sentence. When they get home, Kenny showers first, and while Kota’s in the shower, he watches the video. Kenny hopes it wasn't quite that obvious to others, because his face conveyed his thoughts pretty well: it was half _oh no are you going to barf are you okay do you have a concussion_ and half _you’re crazy are we really gonna fuck right now?_

But it wasn’t either of those things. As soon as they got to the locker room, Kota slumped in a folding chair and folded his arms across his knees, let his head rest on his forearms. Kenny bent down to help him take off his shoes and kick pads; a postmatch ritual of theirs, albeit one without established protocol for when they fight _each other_.

Kota didn’t move. He just said, in a scarily unfamiliar tone, “home. Take me home,” and let out a shaky sigh.

Kenny, at some point, came to terms with being the needy one in the relationship; at long last, he'd decided to stop fighting the fact that he just needs more reassurance, sometimes, than is sane or reasonable. Kota’s never had a problem with it, always the steady hand and voice, relentlessly loving. So when Kenny gets a chance to be Kota’s port in a storm, when _he_ needs to step up and be the anchor, he's galvanized; he could do  _anything_ to make things better. He almost welcomes it. 

It's very rare for Kota to be like this—unreachable for so long after a match—and rarer still for him to demand something the way he'd demanded to go home. So Kenny simply said “okay,” grabbed sweats for both of them, packed their stuff, called a cab. He helped Kota into and out of the car, up the stairs to his apartment, to the little table in the kitchen. He fed insistently-meowing Hoshi, and gave Kota a glass of water, instructing him to finish it while Kenny showered.

Kenny took a disappointingly fast shower—usually he needs a long one to soothe his muscles, but not tonight; he got out as quickly as he could and changed into pajama shorts. Kota was still at the table, not even looking at his phone or anything, just staring. He had finished the water at least, and Kenny helped him get his clothes off and get into the shower. Kota didn’t say anything the whole time, and switched between helplessly, desperately leaning his weight on Kenny, and shrinking away from his touch.

After Kenny watches the video to see how obvious his face was, he finally has a quiet moment to panic. There are so many things that could be wrong, he doesn’t even know where to begin his anxiety spiral. He hears Kota turn off the shower, and his stomach drops in dread.

The first time they’d faced each other after becoming the Golden Lovers, in that weird tag match, they couldn’t get home fast enough, and couldn’t get their clothes off quickly enough once they did. They’d spent two days in bed working through, then recovering from, that crazy energy. The first time they were at Budokan was the beginning of the end of the Golden Lovers. They’d spent two years slowly crumbling away from each other. This time, they’d figured the passage of time would protect them from either of those extremes: too old for the former, and mature enough to have worked through the latter. But Kenny wonders now, as he hears Kota leave the bathroom, how confident he _really_ is that they’vebecome less naive, or more wise.

All that, and  _somehow,_ Kota needs to be okay enough to beat Tanahashi tomorrow. Kenny can't fail him. Won't.

He sits for a moment collecting his thoughts, which... actually aren’t particularly worth collecting. He wills himself to get up, thighs and knees aching, and slowly walks to the doorway of the bedroom. It’s totally dark, but with the light from the kitchen and the ambient light from outside, he can see that Kota’s sitting on a cushion on the floor, leaning against the wall under the window, attentively petting a delighted Hoshi. He’s wearing only boxer briefs—the maximum amount of clothing he sleeps in during the summer, for which Kenny frequently thanks the universe—but right now it just makes him seem smaller and more fragile, somehow. He must know Kenny’s standing in the doorway, but he doesn’t look up, keeps his knees hugged to his chest. Kenny watches his hands as he strokes Hoshi’s face; like Kenny, Hoshi is a frequent beneficiary of Kota’s ability to transmit warmth and love through his touch. Kota’s intently watching his own hand too, watching Hoshi’s grateful nuzzles.

“I can’t believe I get to share a bed with the future winner of G1 Climax 28,” Kenny says, and Kota maybe-almost politely laughs.  _Maybe it’s not the time for bad jokes._ Kenny shakes the thought away, because it’s always the time for bad jokes, but he decides to use a different strategy as he tentatively makes his way into the room.

“You were amazing tonight, Ibutan.” It came out far more awestruck than Kenny had wanted to sound, but at least it’s honest.

“I think I moonsaulted onto you with my knees,” is the first thing Kota says. “I don’t remember.” He never looks away from Hoshi.

_You did. It was awesome._ “I don’t really remember either,” Kenny says. He already resolved not to tell Kota about the telling ache in his ribs. _I’ll go to the doctor tomorrow, Ibutan_ , he promises silently, knowing Kota will be upset if he finds out about Kenny’s self-neglect. But after the match, there was no way, even for a potentially-broken rib, he would have left Kota alone.

He stands there for a moment, quietly despairing, watching Kota’s hair fall in front of his eyes, knowing just from his body language that he doesn’t care one way or another whether Kenny’s in the room. Kenny takes a couple slow steps closer. “Hey. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Kota says; sincerely but automatically, still watching Hoshi rub her cheeks contentedly against his knuckles and fingers.

“Oh. Sorry, I was talking to Hoshi,” Kenny jokes. He doesn’t know what to say.

Kota does kinda crack a smile at that, because he always seems to love Kenny’s stupidest jokes the most. “I was too,” Kota says, almost smiling as he finally looks up at Kenny. But right away, his face falls, and he looks away.

Kenny refocuses; it’s hard, his brain is shaky, still coming back to himself from that horrible place he had to go in his mind to be able to hurt Kota. Kenny doesn’t want to push him, but this conversation isn’t going how he’d hoped. He sits down cross-legged in front of Kota, puts his hand on Hoshi, who isn’t pleased about it, and ducks his head down to try to get Kota to look at him. “Kota. Ibutan. Talk to me, please.”

Kota looks at him almost helplessly, then sighs in self-disgust. He looks down at his lap, thinks for a long moment. Finally, he says, “I don’t know what to say,” and it sounds so apologetic it breaks Kenny’s heart. Like he was trying to talk _because Kenny asked him to_ and not because _he_ needed to.

And Kenny finally gets it: he’s been doing this all wrong.

Kota's not good with words, but that doesn't at all mean he's bad at communicating. From the first time he ever put his hands on Kenny, Kenny felt it, and he wonders whether other people do too: Kota's hands, his body, can convey anything. It’s why even when they’re in the ring or out with friends, Kenny can’t stop touching him, watching him. It’s what got them beyond language barriers: where their skin meets is a wavelength, a channel. Kenny’s never met someone who was able to convey so much with a brush of fingers or the right amount of pressure squeezing his wrist, and it’s intoxicating. It has been for ten years. It always will be. It’s home, it’s a life force. It’s why Kenny’s the only other person who speaks fluent Kota; he learned to read the expressions on Kota’s face, to hear the messages in his body language. It’s dumb, but it’s like he can feel the frequency Kota radiates, and he’s been lucky enough to understand that Kota was expressing himself that way since the beginning. It’s part of the reason he never _really_ believed they could be separated forever.

If Kota worked the same way Kenny does, Kenny would gently ask him questions about what it felt like for him to fight his partner. But he doesn’t work the same way Kenny does, so instead, Kenny takes Kota’s hand, straightens it out, and holds Kota’s palm—icy cold—to his chest.  Kota tries to pull away, but Kenny squeezes his wrist a little tighter, and he relents, exhaling a long, shaky breath. His fingers curl a little into Kenny’s skin.

Kenny reaches for Kota’s face, and feels a bolt of pain in his side. He fails to not-wince; and Kota instantly understands what hurts. His hands move quickly to Kenny’s sides, and his eyes are full of concern.

“Your ribs,” he says, softly running the pads of his fingers over the rises and falls of Kenny’s rib cage. He stares intently at his fingers, as if he’ll somehow be able to see the injury and heal it.

“I’m okay,” Kenny says, undermining himself by wincing again as Kota finds the injured rib.

“You’re not,” Kota says sadly, almost definitely blaming himself. He lets his hand fall.

Kenny grabs it, puts it back on his chest, holds it there with both hands. “No. But my rib isn’t that bad. Really.” It’s much worse that he can’t get through to Kota. Kota’s knees are still hugged to his chest, he’s still staring down and away. Kenny sighs to himself, tries to put himself in Kota’s mind. _What do you need?_

It’s not the same for Kota as for him. He hates the darkness he had to access to do violence to the person he loves most in the world, but Kenny’s ultimately a man of words. Kota’s most honest with his body, whether in front of a crowd or when it’s just the two of them. So he thinks about that, how he’d feel. He imagines what Kota might have had to do to make his body cause pain to Kenny; hurt him until he surrendered to a three-count. Maybe what Kota had to do tonight was the equivalent of Kenny being forced to say horrible, hateful things; to use his gift for words to wound and crush the man he loves the most, his most precious person.

Remembering the awful things he said about Kota while they were apart hurts far more than the (still very ugly) memory of his fist connecting with Kota’s beautiful face. What if he’d been forced to say those things now? What if it were his job to say the worst and most accurate things he could? There’d be no  _well you know I didn’t mean it_  or _it’s what we had to do_. Kota probably wouldn’t even require an apology; all in a day’s work, but... skills you’ve honed and cultivated, become proud of… to use those to do the worst thing you could imagine; deliberately hurt the person you love, methodically break them… Kenny imagines himself trying to live in his own brain after something like that. It’d be agony. It would be unbearable.

Maybe that place is where Kota is now. Maybe Kenny can meet him there, or at least try to. He’s so bad at this stuff, the talking-without-saying that’s second nature to Kota. But it’s always been okay, because Kota loves the way Kenny talks to him, and Kenny loves the way Kota touches him. He watches Kota, still in a trance, watching the cat. After the match, Kenny could hardly care that he lost, he was so awed by how expertly Kota had taken him apart. But he hadn’t thought until now what it must have cost.

Kenny thinks he knows what to do. _I hope you can hear me._

He brings Kota’s hand to his lips, kisses each knuckle, softly strokes the palm of his hand with his thumb. Goes back again, and kisses each knuckle again, silently forgiving each one for the hurt it caused him. Kenny’s not angry with Kota, or upset, or anything other than in love, as usual, as always. And worried. He knows that _Kota_ knows he did nothing wrong. But Kenny knows, too, that guilt doesn’t care about logic. He knows there was a time when Kota felt there was nothing to forgive, but gave it anyway, sincerely and lovingly, because Kenny needed it. He’d spend his life repaying that if he could.

He kisses the inside of Kota’s wrist, running his fingers over his forearm and elbow, and forgives those. He lets go of Kota’s hand, runs his hands down Kota’s shins, and circles his fingers around his ankles, resting his hands softly on the tops of Kota’s feet. He forgives them too. He rests his face on Kota’s knees, soft kisses on both of them, forgiving them. He has no real idea if his intentions are clear, but he focuses his mind on it, like he can make Kota understand telepathically. He’s sure he looks ridiculous; he doesn’t dare look at Kota’s face for fear of giggling, although it wouldn’t be the worst thing to make Kota laugh. More knee kisses;  _especially_  knee kisses.

Kota doesn't really respond, so Kenny keeps it up for a little while. He hopes he's conveying the forgiveness Kota seems to need, but he'd settle for not-irritating affection. Finally Kota lets his legs fall into a cross-legged position, so he’s knees-to-knees with Kenny, and lets his head fall forward onto Kenny’s shoulder, arms hanging limp across Kenny’s thighs. Kenny slides his arms around Kota’s shoulders, one hand in his hair, and bends his neck awkwardly to be able to kiss Kota’s temple softly. Kota lets out a long sigh, and settles into Kenny’s arms.

For a long while, they just sit like that, Kota first getting out all his shaky breaths, then nuzzling his head into Kenny’s shoulders, squeezing them tight. Kenny just listens to his breathing, so grateful that he can get any kind of positive response, occasionally pressing more soft kisses into his temple.

Kota rubs the hard, achy muscles in Kenny’s shoulders, like he somehow knows that Kenny needed a much longer shower to work out all the soreness. He moves to Kenny’s upper arms, then his pecs, following each with gentle kisses. He puts his hands lightly on Kenny’s ribs, and kisses his collarbone, then sternum, then bends down and brushes kisses across his ribs. Like he can heal Kenny’s soreness with light, sweet kisses. Kenny holds his breath, because it really _does_ feel like it restores him, fills him back up with energy.

Kota half-laughs, and stops. It takes Kenny a second to come back into his brain and realize Kota’s looking at him weird. “What?”

“You always make a noise like that when you’re trying not to get hard,” Kota actually giggles about that, like he’s a coy girl in some bad hentai.

Kenny hadn’t even known he made a noise. “Being around you all the time would make that noise pretty familiar, I guess,” Kenny laughs, probably sounding more honest than he meant to, because he _is_ getting hard. “I am but made of flesh, Buu-san.”

Kota giggles again. Maybe he really _does_ love Kenny’s stupidest jokes the most. “But all I did was kiss your ribs!” He says it in that mock astonished way, and Kenny is actually glad to hear him with enough pep to troll. He laughs, and squeezes Kota’s shoulders a little tighter. “Kenny,” Kota says with heavy faux-innocence, “is it just that you get hard really easily or something?” He's failing to keep a straight face.

_At least *he* finds this funny_. “Hush, Ibutan,” Kenny laughs, “we were having a moment.” He strokes Kota’s hair.

“Yeah, and you got a boner about it,” Kota says quietly, like he’s trying refocus and get serious after getting the giggles, but can’t help himself.

“In my defense you were kissing my ribs,” Kenny says, and Kota laughs fully then, shoulders quaking. Kenny smiles, kisses the top of his head, sighing deeply in relief; Kota's going to be okay to fight tomorrow.

For some reason, he's startled when he feels Kota’s hand on his cock. _Ohhh._ “You’re okay?” Kota doesn’t respond, he just starts lightly kissing Kenny’s ribs again, this time with his tongue, too; rubbing the flat of his palm up the length of Kenny’s cock. Kenny tangles his fingers in Kota’s hair. “So… yes then?” Kota doesn’t say anything, just brings his other hand to the waistband of Kenny’s shorts, and Kenny is more amped up than he realized. He tightens his grip on Kota’s hair, roughly grabs his shoulder with the other hand, and pushes him back against the wall. He rises to his knees, straddling Kota’s lap, hands on the wall, looking down at Kota, and he almost can’t take the way Kota looks back up at him, the way his features shift from surprise to lust. “Ibutan, I feel that you’re coming on to me,” Kenny says, hoping his smirk looks roguish instead of like he's trying not to laugh at his own joke.

Kota gets a fiery look on his face, bites his lower lip,  _damn you,_ and brings his hands to the waistband of Kenny’s shorts, right at his eye level. Kenny leans into Kota’s touch, and winces in pain. _Not how this was supposed to go_. He clutches his side, and sinks back on his heels.

“I appreciate that you’ve committed to seeing a doctor tomorrow,” Kota says sternly, which is usually more deflating than hot, but not right now. “Are you okay?” His tone almost immediately switches to concern.

The sharp pain is subsiding, but he probably shouldn’t be moving too much, he realizes. “It hurts, but…” Kenny puts his hands on Kota’s cheeks, brushes a thumb across his pretty lips. It’s been a physiologically confusing few seconds, and Kenny’s at a loss for words. But he does _not_ want to stop. “I want—”

“Get on the bed, on your back,” Kota says, and Kenny does, easily relinquishing whatever control he’d tried to take—he knows he's too hurt for it, and he’d do just about anything Kota instructed him to do in _that_ tone. Kota’s standing over him, backlit by the city lights coming through the window. “Stop me if anything hurts,” he says, and before Kenny can say anything, Kota’s pulled his shorts down and wrapped a hand around his cock. He leans a knee on the bed next to Kenny’s shoulder, and takes Kenny’s cock into his mouth.

Kenny was not prepared; he’s a little embarrassed by how he clutches the blankets in surprise as Kota teases the head with his tongue. The angle Kota’s at means Kenny can run his gaze along Kota’s chest and arms, illuminated by the window light. He watches all the little muscles along Kota’s ribs flex and shift as Kota moves his head, loves the sight of Kota’s arms and shoulders tensing up to hold up his weight. And Kota’s pouty lips never look more perfect than when they’re wrapped around a cock; gorgeous in stark light and shadow from outside. Kenny can’t watch him for very long if he wants to have any stamina at all. He clenches his eyes shut and focuses on the feeling of Kota’s fingers running over the sensitive skin of his thighs.

Kota’s pace is slow and deliberate, attentive and grateful. He uses one hand to stroke Kenny’s cock, slick from being worked over, and focuses his mouth on the head. Kenny almost laughs at how good it feels.

When he opens his eyes and turns his head to the side, he sees Kota’s hips next to him, and he can see how hard Kota is through his underwear. He’s at a slightly awkward angle, but he reaches up and strokes Kota’s length through his boxer briefs, which makes Kota shudder and hum a noise in the back of his throat, vibrating his mouth nicely. The angle’s a little awkward, but Kenny paws at the waistband of Kota’s underwear until he can slide them down and off, Kota cooperatively moving his legs. His cock is dripping, and Kenny uses that as lubrication to stroke him. Kenny’s wrist is at an awkward angle, so he can’t go very fast, but he realizes it’s much hotter to watch Kota fuck his hand anyway, abs pulsing, thrusting his hips in time with the sweep of his tongue, small muffled grunts increasing.

Kenny lets himself fully feel the sensations of Kota’s mouth on his dick. He doesn’t hesitate to ask when he realizes what he wants. “You should fuck my mouth."

Kota maybe shrugs his shoulders in assent, it’s hard to tell, but he otherwise doesn’t break his pace. He also doesn’t waste any time shifting so he’s straddling Kenny’s head. He moves so fluidly and naturally, never taking his mouth off Kenny’s cock, but Kenny can see him shift his arms carefully, to keep from putting any weight near Kenny’s ribs. Sometimes even when he’s being forceful and dominant, his tenderness peeks through, and Kenny will probably always reel at the juxtaposition.

Kota by now knows that Kenny does not want him to be gentle; doesn’t ask, just thrusts his hips into Kenny’s face. It’s so hot, that confidence in his abilities; possessive and rough in just the way Kenny likes. Kenny relaxes his throat, breathes through his nose, and savors the pressure at the back of his throat, the pain in his jaw, the tears in his eyes. It’s suffocating in the best way; coarse hair against his cheeks and the shower-clean smell of Kota’s skin. He digs his nails into the back of Kota’s thigh, and he comes so quickly when his mouth and throat are stretched like that. Kota really does savor it, he makes a pleased noise and swallows it all, now moving his hips erratically and shuddery. A few more thrusts and he’s done too, not hesitating to push hard into Kenny’s throat as he does. Kenny leans into the pressure and almost gags, but swallows, taking his time before he lets Kota withdraw.

Kota moves to the side, and his chest is heaving. It's completely unfair how beautiful he looks from even the most unflattering angles, but Kenny's always more grateful than envious. Kota sits on the edge of the bed for a moment, then comes to Kenny’s other side, the non-injured side. He brings the sheet up around them, then very carefully lays down on his side next to Kenny, arm circling around his waist to avoid his chest, his face against the side of Kenny’s neck. Kenny does his best to put his arm around Kota’s shoulders. After a few minutes, Hoshi has curled up against Kota’s back, easily in Kenny’s reach, and he strokes her ears absently. Her purring is the only sound for a while, until the air conditioner kicks on and drowns her out. It’s so peaceful; Kenny wishes he could pack it up in little boxes to bring with him when he travels.

“I’m so sorry for cracking your rib,” Kota finally says in a small voice.

“We don’t know that it was you, Buu-san. Probably some other guy,” Kenny says seriously.

Kota giggles despite himself, but immediately regains that sad tone. “Kenny. Please.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, my Ibutan. And if there were, I’d hope you’re not under the impression that a blowjob could fix it,” he laughs, savoring the rawness in his throat as he talks. “Even a really good one.”

Kota makes a pained, panicked noise. “That’s not why—“

_Shit._ “No no no, that was a bad joke, I’m sorry.” Kenny kisses him fervently on the forehead. “See? That’s something to apologize for. Not the rib thing.”

“Kenny,” Kota sighs, like Kenny’s not getting it, and burrows his face under Kenny’s shoulder. “I was trying to hurt you. I wanted to beat you.” He says it like a guilt-ridden confession, like somehow that’s not _exactly_ what their job is: hurting people until they can’t get up.

And... Kota’s the best in the world at it. He’s so good that sometimes Kenny watches him and wonders if the sweetness or the rage is at the heart of him; he wears them both so naturally, wields them both so deftly. Then, in moments like this one, Kenny laughs at himself for ever doubting. Even if it feels too beautiful to be real. “You know I wanted to win too, right? You know that I absolutely did everything in my power to beat you, right? That I held nothing back?”

“Yes,” Kota says, defeatedly. “It just feels different.” Kenny tries not to find it adorable, how pouty he sounds with his voice muffled, face still pressed under Kenny’s shoulder.

“Because you won?” Kenny knows why, and he knows that’s _not_ why. He just wonders whether Kota does.

“No, it’s…” Kota sighs at himself, frustrated. “Ugh, you’re so much better with words than I am!”

_You’re so much better at wrestling than I am. You can let me have the words._ “That’s okay, Ibutan. You don’t have to—“

“I love you so much,” he says firmly—in English—cutting Kenny off.

Kenny’s a little stunned. Not that he ever doubts how much Kota loves him; Kota makes it clear every chance he gets. But it's rare for him to _say_ it like that; _I love you *so much*,_ with so much emotion in his voice. Much more of a Kenny thing than a Kota thing. And he said itin _English_ , _for fuck’s sake._ Kenny can't think of anything to say.

“You said last night that I should remember how your hands are supposed to feel on me. Not hurting me. I was thinking about that. It was… I wanted…” He takes a slow breath. “You’re the best in the world, Kenny-tan—“ _No, I’m not, but…_ “—I hated every second I had to hurt you. I wanted to crawl out of my skin… Winning made it worse. I know you forgive me—“

Kenny takes a breath to tell Kota there’s nothing to forgive, but Kota interrupts him.

“—even though I know there’s nothing to forgive,” he corrects himself. “I thought I would be disrespecting you as a wrestler… and as my partner— _more important, more important_ … if I didn’t… if I held anything back.” He locks eyes with Kenny with a desperate-but-hopeful look on his face, one that reminds Kenny very distinctly of the way he felt earlier when he was clumsily trying to convey _I-forgive-you-even-though-there’s-nothing-to-forgive_ by kissing Kota’s knees a lot. “I don’t _knowww_ ,” he says, with an exhausted, exasperated huff. He presses his face against Kenny’s neck and rests his head on Kenny’s shoulder, squeezes his waist. So carefully, so gently;  _of course_. “I just… I love you more than I could ever tell you.”

Kenny smiles madly, kisses Kota's hair, and squeezes him as tightly as he can without hurting his rib. He can’t think of anything to say.


End file.
